The Extinction Files Box Set

by A. G. Riddle

  What do I know that they didn’t?

  Conner’s eyes drifted back to the directory.

  I know where Desmond hid his memories.

  Conner walked past the reception desk and pulled out the piece of paper with Labyrinth Reality on it. There was nothing else written on the paper, but in the spot in the directory from which he had pulled it, there was a hole—right through the drywall.

  Conner clicked on his flashlight and peered in. A small object was taped to a metal stud. A USB drive. He examined it closely, checking for signs of a trip wire or alarm. Then he took it out, placed it in his pocket, and returned to the van.

  After running a thorough virus scan, Conner opened the drive. It contained only one file, titled Conner.mp4.

  He thought about deleting it. That’s what Yuri would do. He would say, “stay focused.”

  Conner took the earbuds out of his bag, plugged them into the laptop’s headphone jack, and hit play.

  Desmond appeared on-screen. He was seated on a private jet, and seemed to be the only passenger. “If you’re not Conner,” he said, “please give this video to him.”

  Desmond gazed out the window for a second as if gathering his thoughts. Then he turned back to face the camera. “I just left the Kentaro Maru. You should have trusted me. This isn’t the way I wanted to do this, but you left me no choice.” He stared at Conner through the screen. “I’m doing this for us. And a lot of other people. Trust me. Please, brother. I’m going to need your help before this is over.”

  The video ended, and Conner ripped his earbuds out. He glanced over at Desmond, lying on the hospital bed, the monitor beeping, the screen showing his brain waves. What have you done, Des?

  Desmond lost all sense of time. He slept, he ate, and he ran, mostly to clear his mind, but also to get some fresh air. He spent every second in between in the library overlooking San Francisco Bay, reading, taking notes, and thinking about Yuri’s riddle. He had answers, and he was anxious to tell Yuri.

  The older man arrived around sunset, as he usually did, a placid expression on his face.

  “Chess?”

  “I’d rather talk,” Desmond said.

  Yuri sat.

  Jennifer, the receptionist, opened the stained-wood double doors and strode across the room, her heels first clicking on the hardwood floors, then falling silent on the antique rugs. “Coffee?” she asked. “Dinner?”

  “No, thank you,” Desmond said.

  Yuri shook his head.

  When the doors closed behind her, Desmond pointed to a stack of books on the table, all volumes of the Archives of the Citium Conclaves. “It was in there,” he said. “The clues.”

  Yuri raised his eyebrows.

  “Evolution. Survival of the fittest. Fittest is a thoroughly misunderstood concept in the theory. Fitness is determined by the environment. It’s not about being the biggest or the baddest. It’s about being fit—the best adapted to the world you find yourself in.”

  A grin curled at Yuri’s lips, as if he and Desmond now shared a secret. “That’s right.”

  “That’s what’s different about Australia.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s isolated. Sure, it took a monumental feat in the ancient world to reach it, but the living was good after. Plenty to eat. Plenty of room to spread out. The continent is getting warm now, but it was a paradise back then.”

  Yuri made no reaction.

  Desmond took a book from the stack. “Here’s another example—from one of the Beagle’s research expeditions. They found humanoid bones on the Indonesian island of Flores. This species—Homo floresiensis—is descended from a completely different branch of the human family tree. Our last shared ancestor lived 1.75 million years ago.

  “Like the Australians, they were the innovators of their age. The Beagle researchers found stone tools on Flores that are 190,000 years old. And then there’s the mystery of how they even got there in the first place. The island of Flores is over six miles from the nearest landmass. These ancient humans must have made rafts or boats almost two hundred thousand years ago. Unless they crossed a land bridge that was wiped out at some subsequent point. Either way, it was adventurous, and would have taken some serious brain power.”

  “Yes,” Yuri said, as if he knew where Desmond was going.

  “So this species is isolated on the island of Flores, which is roughly five thousand square miles, about half the size of Massachusetts. There’s only so much plant and animal life on the island. And like Darwin observed, they adapt. They evolve to become the fittest humans for this microenvironment. That didn’t mean being big or fast, or even strong. On Flores, it meant being small. The Beagle researchers estimated, based on the bones they found, that these humans were about three and a half feet tall on average.”

  “And you think that’s related to the Australians?”

  “It’s the same phenomenon. Case studies of evolution in a vacuum—on two islands. Both populations adapted to their environments—environments that didn’t require them to innovate. So they reached equilibrium… and stagnated.”

  “It could be said that Earth is an island. In space.”

  “That will reach equilibrium,” Desmond said. “And stagnate. Then decline. Is that your plan? To leave Earth?”

  Yuri paused. “In a sense.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The universe beyond is dangerous, too.”

  “Okay…”

  “You’ve done good work, Desmond. But you’ve only scratched the surface of the truth.”

  “Then that’s depressing, because I’ve dug through half the volumes in this library.”

  “Your level of effort isn’t your problem.”

  “All right, I’ll bite. What’s my problem?”

  “You’re digging in the wrong place.”

  “Clearly.”

  Yuri smiled. It was a sympathetic, almost grandfatherly gesture. “You’re here to learn more than facts, Desmond.”

  The younger man raised his eyebrows.

  “Patience. Our road is long and difficult. There are no shortcuts.” Yuri gestured at the stack of books that detailed the Citium conclaves. “It took them over two thousand years to discover the full truth. True knowledge is earned, not given.”

  “Right.” Desmond opened his notebook. “So, you were going to give me a map, or a bigger shovel, or something?”

  “A question. Humans who looked like us appeared roughly two hundred thousand years ago. For a long time, they were unremarkable. Just another human species, taking root in Africa and struggling to survive. But forty-five thousand years ago, something changed. Not physically—our ancestors still looked like you and me—but they behaved differently. Thought differently. We call that event the appearance of “behaviorally modern” humans. This revolution occurred at roughly the same time those intrepid explorers carved their boats, sailed the open sea, and landed on the shores of Australia. It’s a very peculiar development.”

  Desmond nodded. “I agree.”

  “What happened next is perhaps the greatest mystery of all time. Around the world, other human species all went extinct in the space of fifteen thousand years. Neanderthals. Denisovans. Floresiensis. Some of these human species were very advanced, not unlike us. They made tools, mastered fire. Hunted in groups and cared for their sick and elderly. They were, as you have noted, very fit for their environments. In Europe, the Neanderthals conquered the frigid climate hundreds of thousands of years ago. Our species, Homo sapiens, did so again, more recently. We were newcomers, adapted for the warm environment of Africa, with its savannas and open grassland—not the forests, and mountains, and long winters of Europe—yet we prevailed. And expanded. And eventually took over. For the first time since the emergence of the first proto-humans, there was only one human species on Earth. Us.”

  “That’s your second mystery? Understanding why that happened?”

  “That’s only half of it. At the same time the other huma
n species disappeared, other primates survived. And they survive today. Chimpanzees, gorillas, and bonobos all still walk the Earth. Why? Why did we survive while the others went extinct? Why did the other primates survive as well? That is the mystery.”

  In the van off Sand Hill Road, Conner watched the footage from the drones. The National Guard units were moving closer.

  “Units two, three, and four,” he said over the radio. “Abandon your vehicles and take up covered positions in the woods.”

  From the van’s front seat, Goins turned to face Conner. “If they look in the vans, they’ll see the gear and ordnance.”

  It was a good point, one Conner hadn’t considered. But he would never concede that fact. He glared at the man. “I wasn’t finished, Major.”

  He activated the radio again. “Take all possible measures to cover the van’s contents and make sure they’re locked.”

  To Dr. Park, he said, “How long?”

  “How long for what?”

  “Until the memory finishes, Doctor. Focus.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Guess.”

  He exhaled. “Fifteen minutes? Maybe a little more or less.”

  “Can we move this van?”

  Park’s eyes grew wide. Conner knew that expression.

  “Speculate, Doctor. If we moved a block away, into a more hidden place, what might happen?”

  “I have no frame of reference to even speculate.”

  “Doctor.”

  “Okay… The memory could stop. Or he could become a vegetable. Or nothing. Maybe it would just keep going. I have no idea.”

  Goins looked back at Conner, awaiting instructions.

  “We stay put,” Conner said. “The four of you,” he motioned to the mercenaries, “get out and cover the van from the tree line. We’ll hide the equipment. The doctor and I will stay with Desmond.” He pointed to the beeping monitor. “Can you silence that thing?”

  Park punched a button, and the noise ceased.

  Ten minutes later, Conner, the doctor, and Desmond lay in the back of the van, covered in thick blankets and empty boxes. They had done their best to make the back of the van look like it was an abandoned shelter.

  Conner waited and listened. The minutes dragged by. Finally, he heard the Humvees roar into the parking lot. Doors opened. Boots on the pavement, running. Someone shouting assignments to the troops sweeping the building.

  Footfalls, closer, moving toward them. Someone tried the handle to the driver’s-side door, found it locked.

  Conner gripped his sidearm.

  Chapter 11

  Deep inside the Beagle, Peyton tried to make herself sleep. Since childhood, she had always dreaded going to sleep. She had often lain awake, obsessing over things, her mind playing out scenarios, rehearsing the future.

  She turned over and pulled the thick stack of blankets tight against her. They were cold to the touch. She was still freezing. She, Lin, Nigel, and Seaman Rodriguez lay next to each other on the floor, trying to pool their body heat under the blankets. Their helmets were off, conserving their oxygen.

  Chief Adams sat by the entrance, an automatic rifle across his lap. The glow of a video monitor cast the sharp lines of his face in shadow. There was no motion on the four night-vision cameras he’d placed throughout the sub.

  An LED bar clicked on right next to Peyton. She saw her mother’s face staring at her.

  “You need to rest, dear.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “Peyton.”

  “All right,” she muttered.

  She closed her eyes, faking sleep like she had done countless times as a child.

  “I’ve seen that routine a time or two.”

  Peyton opened her eyes.

  “What are you thinking about?” Lin asked.

  “The attack.”

  Lin stared at her a moment. “And?”

  Peyton hesitated. “Desmond.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “But I believe it. And you have to believe it. Don’t give up hope. It’s a very powerful thing, darling.”

  A silent moment passed.

  “If they get Rendition from him, what will they do with him?”

  Lin glanced away. “Desmond means a great deal to Conner. He wouldn’t harm him.”

  “Desmond betrayed him.”

  “Forgiveness is what makes families work.”

  Peyton knew her mother was actually talking about her brother. “I hope you’re right—”

  The groaning sound of ripping metal echoed through the sub like a sea creature crying out from above.

  Nigel sat up, wild-eyed, breathing fast. “Are they here?”

  Rodriguez slipped out from under the blankets and grabbed his rifle.

  Adams kept his focus on the monitor.

  The sub shuddered.

  “Was that a missile?” Nigel asked.

  A beating sound thrummed through the vessel, slow at first, then a rush, like a thousand wild horses charging across the sub’s hull.

  Lin’s voice was calm, as if she were merely inquiring about the weather. “Assessment, Mister Adams.”

  “She’s taking on water.”

  “Source?”

  “Unknown. Best guess is the docking port.”

  It took Peyton a second to put it together. The tearing metal sound was their submersible being pushed away from the Beagle, leaving the docking port open, which was letting water flood into the sub. She and her mother had sealed the bulkhead doors around that section, so there was no risk of further flooding, but this meant their only method of reaching the surface was gone. They were now completely trapped. If help didn’t come, they would die down here, starving and frozen, just like the crew of the Beagle did thirty years ago.

  Lin gave no hint of the fear Peyton felt. “Revised recommendations, Chief?”

  “Doubt they’ll press the attack immediately, ma’am. They know we heard it. They want us to panic, tire ourselves out.”

  “I concur.” Lin turned to Nigel and Peyton. “Let’s get some rest. We’ll soon need it.”

  Nigel rolled his eyes. “Sure. No problem. There’s just one tiny little thing bothering me about the revised recommendations. We—are—trapped down here! I mean, are we even going to talk about that?”

  “No, Doctor Greene, we’re not. We will, however, solve that particular problem when the time comes.”

  “Great, great,” he said, nodding theatrically. “Just, you know, speaking for myself here, I’d like a brief preview of this magical solution that will free us from this frozen prison at the bottom of the ocean. I’m just saying—it would help me sleep.”

  Lin shot a glance at Peyton, then focused on Nigel. “You’ll have to trust me, Doctor Greene. And after we get out of here, you’ll have to trust me a lot. So get used to it.” She settled back under the blankets and pulled them to her chin. “Now I’m going to get some sleep. I suggest you all do the same.”

  A sly grin crossed Seaman Rodriguez’s face as he slipped under the covers. Nigel followed reluctantly, and Peyton nestled close to her mother once again.

  Lin clicked off the LED light. A few minutes passed in silence. To Peyton, they felt like hours. Every creak and sound was like an alarm. She listened, wondering each time if the attack had begun.

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, broken only by the dim green glow from the monitor, she could make out her mother’s face. Lin’s eyes were open and determined.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Peyton whispered, reciting the phrase her mother had said to her countless times.

  “I wouldn’t sell my thoughts for all the tea in China.” Lin smiled. “But I’d give them to you.” She paused. “Altamira.”

  “The cave. The picture with the ancient paintings.”

  Lin nodded.

  “You think Doctor Kraus hid something there—for you to find.”

  “Probably.”

  “If…
” Peyton swallowed. “When we get out of here, that’s our destination?”

  “No. Not at first.”

  “Where then?”

  “Oxford.”

  Peyton knew her mother had done research at Oxford during the years they lived in London. As a child, she had always dreaded the days when her mother took the train to and from Oxford. She would depart early, before Peyton awoke, and would return home late, after Peyton had gone to bed. And she was always tired the next morning.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “The oath.”

  “The Latin phrase on the picture. What does it mean?”

  “It’s an oath taken before you can be admitted to the Bodleian Library. It’s been signed and uttered by some of the most famous scientists and leaders in history.”

  “And by you?”

  “Yes. I believe Kraus hid something there—for me to find. He wants me to start there.”

  Nigel sat up, not bothering to keep his voice low. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Doctor Greene?” Lin said flatly.

  “It’s a needle in a haystack. I graduated from Oxford. There are millions of volumes at the Bod.”

  “I know what I’m looking for, Doctor Greene.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there. Now I really am going to sleep.”

  In the Citium submersible Ice Harvest, Commander Furst opened his eyes and silenced the alarm. The two remaining men in his team roused as well. It was time to begin.

  They cleared the floor and laid out the map of the Beagle Yuri Pachenko had supplied. After disconnecting the Shaws’ submersible from the sub, they had reconnoitered the ship’s perimeter, noting hull breaches, and updated the map, coloring the flooded sections in blue.