Blackout ck-3

by Jeremy Robinson

  Chesler waggled the flashlight. “I could see where I was going. Took a straight line and came ashore just a ways from here. And…I had some help.”

  Two more lights flashed on, transfixing King with their beams. King shaded his eyes from the sudden glare, and he could just make out a trio of men standing alongside Chesler, wearing dark clothes and holding guns identical to the one he now carried. He didn’t recognize their faces, which were no longer concealed behind black balaclavas, but he knew immediately who they were.

  King shook his head and gave a defeated sigh. “Chesler, you’re fired.”

  35

  Suvorov stared at the two men illuminated by the flashlights of his Spetsnaz teammates. One of them was the objective of the mission that had brought him to Paris. The other had killed Kharitonov.

  What could be simpler? Take one, kill the other. That’s what he knew he should do. All of his military training could have been summed up in a single phrase: the mission comes first. No matter what else happened, accomplishing the mission should have been his first priority. Not fifteen minutes earlier, he would have carried out both tasks without hesitation…even with a sense of satisfaction.

  But damn it, a lot had happened in the last fifteen minutes.

  He didn’t know exactly what had happened. When the city had been plunged into darkness, he hadn’t really paid heed, but that thing he’d faced on the riverboat… what in God’s name was that?

  It had been only inches from him when something had caused it to reverse course. A few seconds later, he’d met the SVR undercover operative-the man now going by the name Chesler-who, while providing a few answers, didn’t really know anything of use. One thing he’d said however, still echoed in Suvorov’s head.

  It went after them.

  He took a step forward, putting himself at arm’s length from both men. The one Chesler had called ‘King,’ evidently an American operative, had been relieved of his weapons, but Suvorov knew from experience that the man was still very dangerous.

  “What is that thing?” he asked.

  King gazed back impassively. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

  “I don’t think you’re being truthful. I want to know what you know, even if it’s merely a supposition.” He glanced past King, toward the dark river. “We aren’t going anywhere until I get some answers. How long do you think you have before it gets here?”

  King gave an odd smile, and then to Suvorov’s amazement, began talking. His account was succinct, like a military briefing. He talked about quantum phones and a crazed Indian who had believed he was unleashing a black hole upon the world.

  “I don’t think it is a black hole,” King finished, “but it must be something like that. What it did to Pradesh…”

  Suvorov nodded. He’d witnessed some of the fleeing passengers evaporating before his eyes and had found others evidently turned to stone. It seemed more like a demonic monster from a folktale. And didn’t those stories usually end with the hero slaying the monster?

  “Bullets slowed it down,” Suvorov revealed. “There has to be a way to kill it.”

  King seemed genuinely surprised by this news. “I’ve got some ideas about that myself, but I’ll need time. And a little breathing room. So, if you don’t have any more questions, it might be a good idea for us to get moving.”

  “Where should we go?”

  “Anywhere is better than here.” Despite the urgency of his previous statement, King studied Suvorov a moment. “You’re Russian special forces, aren’t you? Spetsnaz? I think I know why you’re here, and it’s got nothing to do with stopping that thing.”

  Suvorov shrugged, confirming nothing King had said. “I think right now, the immediate problem takes precedence over other considerations.”

  “And later? If we survive this?”

  Suvorov didn’t answer. “You mentioned something before, something the Indian told you about where it came from.”

  “He said it was hidden in a Buddhist statue. I’m not really sure what he meant by that.”

  “I think I know,” Suvorov said. “I might not know what it is, but I think I know exactly where it came from.”

  36

  Alexander led them back into the ruins of the Louvre. Fiona stayed close to him, and Sara stayed close to her, with Julia a few steps behind. As they picked their way through the rubble and entered the darkened museum that had once been a kingly palace, the curator gave a little gasp.

  “I can’t believe it. Hundreds of years’ worth of history…all ruined.”

  Fiona couldn’t quite fathom the woman’s grief. In her life, she’d witnessed the total destruction of her home, her family, everything she had known, and if Alexander was correct, the entity that had been unleashed on this night had the potential to destroy so much more. And what about the radiation poisoning? Why did a few old paintings and statues matter anyway?

  Alexander glanced back but said nothing.

  The edifice creaked and groaned all around them, the air filled with a sound like boulders being crushed together. Fiona felt off balance, a sensation that increased with each step forward. Although the debris-strewn corridors were flat, she felt like she was walking downhill, and that at any moment, she might fall forward. She saw that the others were having similar difficulty moving and asked Alexander about this.

  “It’s the gravity of the black hole,” Alexander explained. “Its mass is still relatively small right now, but as we draw closer, this effect will become more pronounced.”

  “It’s still here? I thought that thing…the basilisk…was the black hole.”

  He shook his head. “Merely an extension of its presence. A drone, if you will. The black hole itself cannot move, though as it consumes more and more matter, its mass will increase until it sinks to the center of the Earth. When that happens…” He didn’t finish the thought.

  “How long will that take?” Sara asked.

  “It is impossible to say. This is unexplored territory. The increase in its mass is not mathematically related to the amount of matter it consumes. But I fear that the time remaining might be measured in hours, not days or months.”

  “Hours?”

  “The strange matter at the core of the singularity can add mass to any particle. Right now, it has a relatively limited supply-pieces of masonry, wood and plaster that have broken loose and fallen into the event horizon. Seventeen hundred years ago, something similar happened. The black hole was in a cave. It had consumed all the loose material nearby, after which, it could only draw away subatomic particles from the solid rock surrounding it, which is a very slow process. Relatively speaking, of course.

  “But there is another source of material that might accelerate the process, one that was not available then. The sun. Sunlight is made up of particles that have very little mass. Some of these particles, neutrinos for example, are so small that they can pass through solid matter without striking other particles, sometimes penetrating many miles into the Earth’s surface. When the black hole was in the cave, it was shielded from direct sunlight. Now, that is no longer the case. When the sun rises and light reaches the black hole, it will be showered by subatomic particles, all of which will be instantly converted into mass.”

  Fiona didn’t understand the scientific principles he was trying to explain, but the bottom line was clear. When the sun rose, the world would end. “Can we really stop this thing?” she asked in a small voice.

  Alexander clapped a firm hand on her shoulder. “I believe so. Those Buddhist monks found a way, centuries ago, and they didn’t even know what they were dealing with.”

  “Maybe it’s different this time,” Sara suggested. “You were playing that recording of the chant they used, but it didn’t seem to make any difference.”

  “That is true,” Alexander conceded. “But I think that Fiona’s experience may hold the key to that mystery. Recall how she was able to discern the mother tongue’s influence in the original works of art, and even in the fragment
s of the Buddha statues, but not in reproductions.”

  “Copies don’t work,” Fiona said. “Has to be the real thing.”

  He nodded. “There is some deeper mystery at work. I was mistaken in believing that it was simply a matter of finding the right harmonic frequency. That was only part of it. Intention also plays a role. It was the intention of those monks, seventeen hundred years ago, to render the black hole dormant. And I believe that you can do the same, Fiona.”

  “Are you actually serious?” Julia said from behind them. “What you’re proposing…it’s like faith-healing. Believe and you’ll be saved. Seriously? The real world doesn’t work like that.”

  Alexander regarded her with a grim look that was almost menacing. “You are mistaken, Dr. Preston, and your skepticism isn’t helping. Scientists have long recognized that intention-what you would call ‘faith’-can influence the physical world. It is a precept of quantum mechanics, and that is exactly what we are dealing with here.”

  Despite Alexander’s confident assurance, Julia’s doubts weighed on Fiona. Did the fate of the world really depend on her ability to believe that she could save it? She took another step forward, and felt the inexorable attraction of the black hole, an invisible presence only a few hundred feet away, and knew that her faith was about to be put to the ultimate test.

  37

  They marched like the professional soldiers they were, picking their way deftly over the uneven surface of the fractured road, maneuvering around abandoned vehicles and other obstacles without breaking stride. Suvorov led the way. Brown, either unable or unwilling to move with the same urgency, was being dragged along by two of the Spetsnaz.

  King easily kept pace with them but did not allow the apparent truce to lull him into complacency. This was an alliance of convenience, and he did not doubt that, when or if they succeeded in dealing with the immediate crisis, the Russians would turn on him.

  One thing at a time, he told himself.

  They reached their destination only a few minutes later. The Louvre now bore little resemblance to the stately seventeenth century palace that had been transformed into what was arguably the most famous museum in the world. The classical facade had been devastated by the earthquake, particularly in the central part of the structure, which appeared to be on the verge of imploding. The towering pavilion had collapsed in on itself and the exterior walls, what little remained of them, leaned dangerously inward. In the foreground, little remained of the famous glass pyramids; the largest of the triangular structures now appeared to be nothing more than a twisted web of steel.

  Suvorov had paused at the edge of the courtyard and was gazing in disbelief at the scene of near total destruction. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, barely restraining his grief. “I was just here. A few hours ago.”

  King surveyed the ruin. The Russian had been right about the connection between the Buddha statues-or rather their remains-and the cause of the event. This had almost certainly been ground zero. Something powerful had been awakened inside the museum, and even though he was still more than a hundred yards from the structure, he knew it was still there. He could hear it in the persistent crunching sound that emanated from the ruins, and he could feel it in every fiber of his body.

  The Russian quickly overcame his shock and led the group into the courtyard. He directed one of his team to remain outside and signal with a gun shot if and when the dark shape pursuing them finally arrived. King didn’t doubt that it would show up, but he was starting to believe that what lay inside the museum might be even more dangerous. His dread, and an increasing sensation of vertigo, intensified with each step forward, and as they crawled through a gap in the museum’s exterior and into its lightless depths, he felt almost like he was in free fall.

  Suvorov’s familiarity with the museum counted for little once they were inside. The labyrinth of corridors connecting the galleries and exhibition halls as shown on the floor plan had been remade by the temblor. Hallways were now blocked with rubble, while new passages had been created by the collapse of walls. There was no question however, as to the path they were to follow; gravity drew them irresistibly toward the center of the museum.

  King saw nothing even faintly recognizable, but he knew that the heaps of stone and masonry probably concealed priceless and irreplaceable objets d’art, now damaged beyond any hope of recovery. The clumps of debris had all accumulated on the inward facing walls-at least where such walls were still standing.

  Then, after only a few minutes, the meandering journey ended at the edge of a crater, more than a hundred yards across and open to the night sky. Flashlight beams probed the downward slope, revealing openings that led into ancient passageways-remnants of the twelfth century fortress upon which the palace had been built-cutting into the bedrock that was itself scoured clean of any debris left over from the collapse of the roof and the floors above.

  The bottom of the crater however was filled with loose fragments of rock and rubble, a heap several yards in diameter, and as King stared at the accumulation, he realized that it was the source of the ominous grinding sound.

  He didn’t know what the monster on the riverboat had been, but this surely was the black hole Pradesh had awakened.

  The mound-what scientists called an ‘accretion disk’-was moving, the fragments were being pulled inward, compacted together and broken into smaller pieces by the force of gravity, and all occurring at different relativistic speeds as the matter approached and ultimately crossed the event horizon. Black holes could not be seen because their gravity was too strong to allow light to reflect back to an observer but an accretion disk was a pretty good indicator of the presence of a black hole. King recalled that the destruction of matter in a black hole also released gamma radiation, which could cause lethal cell damage in humans. That wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

  Then he saw something else revealed in the glow of the flashlights. A group of people stood on the edge of the crater, about thirty yards away, similarly gazing down into its depths. He recognized one figure immediately, the tall, massive form of Alexander Diotrophes-the immortal Hercules himself-squinting into the glare.

  This revelation was accompanied by equal parts anger and hope. Of course he’s here, King thought. He always seems to turn up when the world’s about to end. He probably saw this coming, but was too damn secretive to share what he knew with the rest of us.

  On the other hand, there wasn’t much that Diotrophes didn’t know. If there was a way to stop this thing, Alexander would be able to tell him how.

  Then he saw the faces of Alexander’s companions. His heart sank as a joyful squeal echoed from the walls of the crater.

  “Dad!”

  38

  Somehow, Julia wasn’t a bit surprised by the appearance of the man Fiona identified as her father. She was not surprised to learn that the man, introducing himself simply as ‘King’ was also Sara’s boyfriend, nor did she have any difficulty accepting that King and Carutius were old acquaintances-she didn’t think they were friends exactly, but there was history there. She felt like she had lost her capacity to be surprised by anything where Carutius was involved.

  But her mind still boggled with the revelation that the man she had met earlier, the man who had identified himself as ‘Trevor,’ was in fact Timur Suvorov, a Russian special forces soldier. That was too much.

  Trevor- Timur, she corrected-did not allow the awkwardness of the situation to put down roots. “I will explain everything later,” he told her. “But right now time is short.”

  “No kidding,” Fiona chirped, and then with what could only be described as youthful enthusiasm, she summarized everything that had happened, starting with following Carutius-whom she kept calling Alexander-and leading up to the appearance of the dark shape.

  “Basilisk,” King muttered approvingly. “That sounds like a good name for it. We ran into it as well.”

  “The basilisk,” Alexander said, “is merely an extension of
the black hole’s consciousness. The real danger is there.” He pointed out to the accretion disk in the center of the crater.

  “I’m not so sure,” King countered. He held up something that looked to Julia like an ordinary cell phone. “This is a quantum computer. One of ten that Mr. Brown over there-” He pointed to an older man who was being held at gunpoint by one of Timur’s companions-“was going to use to sabotage the world’s power supply. The man who actually built the things had other plans. He somehow found a way to remotely wake up the black hole down there with the quantum computer network and evidently give it some brainpower. I think it wants to make that connection permanent, so it has that basilisk running around collecting them all. This is probably the last one, and if it gets it, we’re finished.”

  Alexander considered this a moment. “Perhaps not. This may be a unique opportunity. If it possesses true intelligence, we might be able to interact with it…”

  He let the thought trail off before any of the others could voice an objection. “No. There’s no time. We need to act against this entity, just as the Buddhist monks did centuries ago.”

  “I can do it,” Fiona said. “I’m going to use the mother tongue.”

  Julia noted the look of apprehension that crossed King’s face. Before he could respond, the noise of a gunshot reached their ears. Several more followed in short bursts then fell silent.

  King looked away for a moment, then bent forward and embraced Fiona. “You can do this,” he told her, and then he drew back and spoke to Alexander. “The basilisk is here. I have to go.”