The Gods of Laki

by Chris Angus

  “Stay alert, please, gentlemen. Laki is a dangerous environment. Don’t underestimate it.”

  She’d selected the tunnel she and Ryan had explored and then been trapped in. Her plan was to go as far as the blockage that had sealed them in. If Jon wasn’t to be found, they would then look for new openings that might have occurred since the blasts.

  She quickly realized that things were completely different below ground now. Numerous sections of tunnel had collapsed while other openings had replaced them. There was an almost constant rumbling going on, which quickly sobered the men from their jovial attitude. It was clear to anyone that the stability of this place was in question.

  After a lengthy hike, Sam realized they should have come to the place where she and Ryan had first been trapped, but nothing looked the same. If not for their spraying of every new venthole they entered, they would quickly have become lost. They still might if a collapse blocked their return route.

  She said to Sergeant Stefansson, “This maze has gotten a lot worse. If I had to guess, I’d say there’s a slow chain reaction occurring somewhere down below.”

  “Chain reaction of what?” asked the Sergeant, one eye cocked questioningly.

  “Collapsing ventholes, percolating forces . . . hot gas, lava, subglacial meltwater. You name it. I think you should make sure we still have contact with your man Jonsson.”

  He nodded and pulled out his radio. The rest of the men sensed a break and fell to the ground.

  To Sam’s relief, Jonsson replied quickly. “Been trying to raise you,” he said. “Your signal is weak. We haven’t seen anyone, but it’s pretty queer down here. Lots of strange sounds. Making everyone plenty nervous. Also, there’s some sort of . . . growth . . . along the sides of the passageway.”

  “What’s it look like?” asked Sam.

  “Sort of gelatinous. Pale in color. Seems to almost pulsate. I think it’s something alive, like a plant, except I don’t know how any plant could survive down here without sunlight.”

  Sam thought of the strange, gelatinous substance she and Ryan had seen filling the vats in the underground lab.

  “All right,” she said in what she hoped was a confident sounding voice. “Don’t touch it. It could be toxic. Be sure to keep marking your tunnels.”

  “No problem there, Ma’am. We sure as hell don’t want to get lost.” He hesitated. “Don’t see why anyone would come down here. You sure we’re not on a wild goose chase?”

  Stefansson took the radio from Sam. “Take it easy, Jonsson. This is a standard search and rescue. Just do your job.”

  “Yes sir . . . Jonsson out.”

  “How did he sound to you?” Sam asked.

  “A little nervous maybe. This isn’t exactly something we do every day. Mostly it’s tracking down lost hikers above ground.”

  She nodded, but she hadn’t liked the tenor of Jonsson’s voice. There was a whiff of paranoia about it. She remembered the feelings she’d had, as though something was watching her.

  They continued on. The vent grew cold and damp, as it had when she was with Ryan. She was certain they’d diverged from the path they’d taken earlier. Still, they were descending and probably getting closer to the Vatnajökull Glacier. If Jon was down here, he had to be hopelessly lost. It would be a miracle if they stumbled upon him.

  Suddenly a high whining sound stopped everyone in their tracks.

  “What the hell is that?” asked one of the men. “Sounds like a freaking banshee.”

  Sam listened to the high-pitched sound. “It’s no ghost,” she said. “My guess is it’s a gas release. Hot gas works its way through the rock, until it finds a tiny crevice. Then it releases . . . kind of like Old Faithful in Yellowstone Park.” It was as benign and comforting an image as she could conjure up.

  As she spoke, the sound died away, but they could smell sulfur. That meant there was a hot spot somewhere nearby, despite the colder temperatures they’d been feeling.

  One of Stefansson’s men shouted, “Look!”

  A split had appeared in the tunnel floor and was widening even as they stared at it. She knew what was going to happen next.

  “Go back!” she cried.

  The others hardly needed direction, as hot, steaming lava suddenly bubbled up through the rent in the floor.

  “Mother of God!” said Stefansson.

  “Come on,” Sam said. “We’re on the upside of it. It would be worse if we had no way to go but down. Gravity would pull the lava after us. We don’t know how big a release it will be, but we’ve got some time.” She didn’t mention that the gas released by the lava might quickly suffocate them or poison their lungs in the narrow confines of the venthole.

  The men scrambled up the sloping tunnel away from the lava that bubbled and poured relentlessly out of the split in the floor, like some great mass of melted fudge. The passageway grew hot from the two-thousand-degree lava, and sweat poured down their faces.

  Sam realized now that what they were doing was sheer madness. They were putting all of their lives at risk by trying to save Gudnasson.

  “We need to get out of here,” she said to Stefansson. “The risk is too great.”

  “No argument from me,” the Sergeant replied.

  But then there was a heart-stopping rumble, as the vent ahead of them simply collapsed, blocking their way completely. They were trapped, with the ever-expanding lava inching toward them relentlessly.

  Stefansson stared at the blocked tunnel. “The commissioner said you were the expert on this place, Miss Graham. I sure hope he was right.”

  ***

  Rashid followed news reports about the earthquake and the stream of aftershocks that had taken place near Laki. At first encouraged by events, he soon grew disillusioned as no evidence of massive eruptions or gas releases was reported. Indeed, the prime minister had appeared on TV to assure citizens that everything was under control.

  He knew things might still change for the better, as far as he was concerned, as the blast effects percolated through the substructure of the volcano. But he was impatient. Six months earlier he’d prepared for such a moment. Making the decision had been a process, a combination of opportunity and connections coming together to form the idea. Once the idea had occurred, he’d molded it, turned it around, and looked at it from every angle. He saw nothing but possibility. He would secure a small nuclear device.

  Iran had been developing a secret nuclear program for many years. The goal was to create a weapon small enough to transport easily into the heart of a western city, thus bypassing the need for a missile delivery system. Such parameters precisely coordinated with Rashid’s own needs. Through his powerful connections, he’d been able to bypass the loose security surrounding the program.

  All things considered, it had been surprisingly easy. He’d arranged to import the device into Iceland himself, aboard a small fishing vessel used by IranOil to transport its various operatives in and out of the country without having to deal with the nuisance of customs.

  He smiled at the memory and how good it had made him feel to have used Akbari’s IranOil network to effect the arrangement.

  Qarawi was gone, melting away like the phantom he was, following the blasts. Once the unpleasant fellow had his money, he wouldn’t be seen again. There was a market for people like Qarawi, and Rashid knew the man would do what he’d been hired for, setting the blasts on Laki. It was the only way he could ensure his future employment potential. Nevertheless, the result had been a failure.

  But Rashid was not without options. Fearing betrayal at every turn, he had insisted on learning how to arm and detonate the nuclear device himself. All he needed was one other man to help transport the weapon, which now sat ready to go in a plain white van parked outside.

  That the detonation of such a weapon might turn southern Iceland into a radioactive wasteland was not his concern. Indeed, it might even be a help, preventing government interference and any attempts to stop or channel the release of hydrogen
sulfide gas and lava. Once things started, no one would be able to halt the release and he would be able to sit back and watch the world’s climate deteriorate and the price of oil skyrocket.

  He listened to one final government news bulletin on the conditions at Laki, then turned off the TV, made a quick phone call, and headed for the white van. His new toy was remarkably small and self-contained. Two men could easily carry it underground. Considerable attention had been invested in where to place the device, but in truth the damage would be so enormous that the precise location was hardly an issue. As a practical matter, it would probably be effective if simply left inside the van at the parking lot.

  But he wanted more certainty than this. They would take the weapon deep underground, assuring a massive eruption.

  Then he would deal with Akbari. The Iranian oil minister had been a thorn for far too long. By rights, following his successful manipulation of world oil markets, Rashid should be the new oil minister. It was a position he had long coveted.

  The removal of Akbari was but a small matter compared to the triumph of strategic planning he was about to achieve.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shelby Graham sat in the poolroom of the Reykjavik research facility waiting for his briefing on their team’s latest medical discoveries. His thoughts turned inevitably to Sam. He was worried about her. Things were heating up since the earthquake, and he had no idea where she was. He hoped Ryan was with her at least.

  He felt isolated here. Having entered the country as inconspicuously as possible, at least until that annoying Wall Street Journal reporter had showed up, he was now as uncertain about what to do as he’d ever been in his long and successful career. Uncertainty was a new feeling for the senator.

  The idea of any sort of harm coming to Sam was something he’d feared with a sense of palpable alarm ever since he’d first held her as a baby. Nothing had ever overcome that feeling. Now, however, he was deeply troubled. For he was committed to . . . fascinated by . . . the idea of an extended life span.

  He had a lot more he wanted to do in this world. He wasn’t ready to leave it, the more so since his own death would essentially mean the loss of Sam. He wanted to be around to watch her and to oversee her progress in life. The rift that had come between them so many years ago had left him reeling, as Sam left for Europe and her new life. Not to have her in his life was inconceivable. He was convinced that eventually she’d come to see things more clearly, and he fully intended to be around when that happened.

  He felt trapped by events. He couldn’t slip out of the country now. The earthquakes had placed Iceland at the center of the world stage. Reporters were flowing into the small island nation to report on what was happening. He’d be spotted in a moment if he appeared anywhere in public. Indeed, Charlie Finlay, his chief of staff, had called repeatedly, warning him to keep a low profile. The story that he was on vacation was beginning to strain credulity at home after he missed two important roll call votes.

  Ali Akbari entered along with their chief chemist, a worried-looking man in a white coat.

  “Tell him what you told me,” Akbari said without preamble.

  “A man broke into the lab and held me at gunpoint. He wanted to know what we were doing here.”

  Graham’s eyes went wide. “What did you tell him?”

  “Anything he wanted to know,” the man answered tartly. “I was staring at a loaded gun.”

  “Can you describe this man?”

  Graham listened to the description with growing alarm. There was no question it had been Ryan Baldwin.

  “What do we do now?” he asked Akbari.

  The oil minister shrugged. “We continue our investigations, of course.” He looked at the chemist. “You told this man about the fungus?”

  “Yes. He saw the vats. I told him what we thought it was, along with my own speculations about the substance.”

  “Which are?” asked Graham.

  “My personal belief . . . theory . . . if you will, is that this fungus might have a degree of intelligence. I told the man this, but I don’t think he believed me. Anyway, I didn’t tell him what else we’ve learned.” The man hesitated.

  “What?” asked the senator, a feeling of dread coming over him.

  “My team decided we should have DNA tests done on the fungus-like material.” He shook his head in frustration.

  “What then? Out with it,” said Akbari. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing.”

  Akbari looked at the man blankly. “Make sense,” he said.

  “The fungus has no DNA.”

  The statement was met with silence.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Graham. “Every living thing has DNA. Did you repeat your efforts?”

  “Yes, sir. The fungus, whatever it is, is not a living thing. It has no DNA.”

  “You just said you thought it might be intelligent.”

  “It appears to act intelligently, yes. It almost seems to communicate with people, by putting thoughts in their heads.”

  “You mean hallucinations?” Graham asked.

  The man looked annoyed. “What’s the difference? Thoughts. Hallucinations. It’s all the same.”

  “But . . . but it moves. Pulsates. It must be alive. What inanimate object moves on its own? Something has to be animating it.”

  “Chemical reactions entail movement,” the chemist replied. “Outside forces cause things to move as well, gravity, magnetic fields, changing temperatures, the pressure of gas releases. Any of these could be causing the fungus to pulsate.”

  “Stop calling it a fungus,” said Graham, his frustration building. “If it has no DNA, it’s not alive. It’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “How the hell should I know? Part of Laki. A manifestation of the volcano.”

  “Jesus!” The chemist stared at him. “That better not reach the press. They’ll skewer you—or worse—they’ll believe it. I can see the headlines. Volcano lives! Scientists say.

  Graham wasn’t concerned about the press. “What have you learned about the longevity effect?”

  “Only that it’s real. No question. Something gave those Vikings extended life spans. And whatever it was, it has also affected people on the ground . . . or under the ground. Some sort of vitalization takes place. We haven’t been able to determine what it is.”

  “I want to experience it for myself,” Graham said, his frustration palpable. “You haven’t come up with any answers. Well, then, I want to feel it. I’m going to Laki.”

  “That’s not possible,” said Akbari. “Aside from the dangers associated with the earthquakes, we’ve learned that Rashid plans to set off a nuclear device to enhance the effects of his explosions.”

  Graham stared at him. “You can’t be serious! It will destroy everything.”

  “My men are looking for him. But we believe he may already be preparing to set off his device.”

  “For God’s sake, we’ve got to stop him!” Graham looked physically ill.

  “There’s something else,” said Akbari. “The police have announced the closing of the southern Ring Road and the Laki Preserve area. No civilians are being permitted to go there.”

  “I’m no goddamned civilian!” Graham fumed. The thought of a nuclear explosion had placed another fear in his heart—that Sam might be on Laki herself.

  ***

  The senator sat alone in the empty lounge of the Reykjavik facility. Akbari had bowed to his demands and left to arrange for a helicopter to take them to the volcano.

  His thoughts whirled. Where was Sam? His plans for an extended lifespan had long been a dream. But if anything happened to her . . . he didn’t want to live forever in a world without Sam.

  He heard a sound and turned.

  Ryan stood behind him. In one hand, he held a pistol, which he slowly lowered to his side.

  Graham half stood, then fell back into his chair. “What the hell are you doing here, Baldwin? Why aren’t you with
Sam?”

  “I came to find out what you know,” Ryan said, moving forward.

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “You could say she’s in good hands. She’s with a dozen of Commissioner Dagursson’s men. Except . . .” He glanced at his watch. “By now they’re on Laki, searching for an employee of mine who went there.”

  This time Graham stood up. “She can’t be there,” he said. “It’s too dangerous. Goddamn you, Baldwin! How could you let her go there?”

  “You’ve known how dangerous Laki is for some time, Senator. And despite your efforts to get Sam away from Iceland, she’s still here. I don’t think you give a damn. You’ve got your own agenda.”

  The senator stared at him. Ryan could see a swirl of emotions cross his face. He suddenly looked a lot older—like a man who could use a dose of longevity.

  Graham’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I’ve chased the phantom of extended life for most of my political career. You don’t know. . . . Scientists are close, Baldwin. Much closer than they were forty years ago. Then it was just a fantasy. But I still managed to get increased funding for longevity research.

  “Now they’re closing in on many possible solutions. Diet restriction, hormonal treatments, drugs like resveratrol, gene manipulation. Do you know they’ve tripled the life spans of roundworms by altering a single gene? One gene. The same with fruit flies and mice. Have you heard of GDF-eleven? It’s a protein that’s abundant in the blood of young mice and scarce in old ones. They concentrated the protein and injected it into old mice. It rejuvenated them, their muscle tissue, their hearts. The neurons in their brains sprouted new connections. Scientists aren’t just slowing down the clock Baldwin, they’re turning it back! There’s a research center . . . highly classified . . . outside Reno, Nevada, where they’ve extended the lives of rats a dozen fold. A dozen fold! Think what that means.”

  “Probably means a hell of a lot of rats,” said Ryan.

  “It means humans could live for a thousand years!”

  “Might cause some problems with the earth’s carrying capacity,” Ryan said. “How many children could a person have in a thousand years?” He stared at Graham. “But of course, you don’t expect everyone to live that long, do you? Just those who can afford it, right? The cream of the crop.”