The Extinction Files Box Set

by A. G. Riddle

  “When it was gone, human populations stagnated. That’s the answer in Australia. They got there, killed the large game, and settled into an equilibrium. They missed the great innovation that swept the rest of the world, the next major calorie boost: agriculture. The agricultural revolution—growing grains like rice and wheat—provided an almost unlimited source of calories. And we didn’t even have to hunt it down. Which is why, starting around 12,000 years ago, the first cities emerged—they were all centered around agriculture. Human civilization exploded from there. Trade. Writing. Laws. Coinage. Agriculture paved the way for all of it. And it’s all about powering our massive brains.”

  Desmond paused. “And that’s what the early Australians missed. They were still hunter-gatherers when the rest of the world found them. They never developed agriculture, which meant they never developed cities, or city lifestyle, which was conducive to thought and research and invention.”

  “Good, Desmond. Very good work. But you’re still missing a piece.”

  Desmond leaned back in his chair.

  “Why us?” Yuri said.

  “Us…?”

  “Why aren’t we Neanderthals? They had larger brains than us. Bigger bodies. Stronger muscles. And they were very well adapted, having survived for half a million years on at least two continents before we wiped them out. Now that’s something.” Yuri pulled the stack of books closer and flipped through them one by one, scanning the tables of contents. Finally, he opened one and turned it to face Desmond. It was a log of an expedition to Germany in 1973.

  Desmond was surprised. “You’ve read these books?”

  “I have studied these books more than any person alive.” Yuri looked down at the black-and-white pictures of an archaeological dig, of the bones uncovered. “It was a dangerous expedition. East Germany was very difficult to get into at the time. And even harder to get out of—especially if you were transporting something. I had to use my contacts in Russia to get us in.”

  “You were there? On the Beagle?”

  “The day she launched… and shortly before she sank.”

  “Your name—”

  “Isn’t in these logs. Or the conclave archives. The names have all been changed. If our enemies found this library, it could be dangerous for us.”

  Desmond opened his mouth to ask another question, but Yuri cut him off.

  “Focus on the mystery at hand, Desmond. Not the Citium’s history.” He pointed to the page. “On this expedition, we found caves inhabited by Neanderthals fifty thousand years ago. Evidence of stone hearths. Ritual burials. Stone tools. We saw evidence that elderly members of the tribe—some of whom were sick, likely had been for years—were cared for. This species was very much like us. The mystery is why we had such an overwhelming advantage over them.”

  “Behavioral modernity—”

  “Is the answer, but what specifically, Desmond? Think about it. If you didn’t know the answer, if we were standing on a hill fifty thousand years ago watching a tribe of our ancestors in one valley and a tribe of Neanderthals in the next, which would you bet on to take over the world? We know who wins—because we’re here to talk about it. But back then, both groups looked behaviorally advanced. Dig deeper. The answer is here.”

  When Yuri was gone, Desmond sat for a long time, thinking. He opened the expedition log and read the report, trying to determine Yuri’s code name in the books. Dr. Nilats? Yes—that was it. He could tell by the tone of the man’s reports. And the name, Nilats—it was Stalin backwards. Yuri had grown up in the Soviet Union in the years after World War Two, so Stalin was a man who no doubt had caused him a lot of pain. He was a man Yuri wanted to be the opposite of.

  Desmond skimmed the rest of the expedition report, which contained accounts from archaeologists, geneticists, and biologists. On the last page, his mouth went dry. He read the next expedition report, then the next. His mind flashed back to that night on the sidewalk, to Peyton and her mother sitting in the restaurant. It couldn’t be.

  He read every log again, not stopping, like a man possessed. Finally, he pushed his chair back and rubbed at his eyes. He needed some fresh air, and to calm his nerves. He put on a jogging suit and marched to the elevator.

  Huan stood as he approached. “Sir, can I get you anything?”

  “Just gonna get some fresh air, Huan. Thanks.”

  He ran toward the sea, the air crisp and cool in his lungs. The smell of fish grew stronger as he approached the wharf. The crowds changed from locals to tourists, pointing and taking pictures of Alcatraz and the sun setting over the Golden Gate Bridge. And with each step, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He slowed to a walk, glancing behind him and all around.

  It was past eight o’clock when he returned. The run had helped clear his mind. He was almost certain of his theory now. But he had to know for sure.

  He showered, dressed, donned his coat, and grabbed his wallet.

  He walked several blocks from the building, checking over his shoulder periodically. Why was he being so paranoid? His theory would explain how Yuri knew that Peyton and Lin were at the restaurant—but that didn’t mean they were watching him.

  He hailed a cab on Bay Street.

  “Menlo Park. Windsor Drive.”

  The man typed the address into a TomTom navigation unit hanging from the inside of the windshield, then pulled away into the night.

  It was almost an hour later when the cab stopped at the address on the quiet residential street. Desmond paid the cabbie, told him to wait, and walked to the front door, his heart beating fast, a lump in his throat. He almost turned back. He’d be humiliated if he was wrong.

  He knocked. A light flicked on. Footsteps. The peephole darkened as an eye peered out. The door swung open, revealing Lin Shaw, dressed in a pantsuit, as if she had only recently arrived home from work.

  “Desmond.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  Desmond had only been to Lin’s home a few times. It was neat, and decorated in a neutral, almost generic way, as if it were staged for sale. He knew Lin spent almost all of her time at Stanford and her company, working on her genetics research.

  “The name changes threw me off,” he said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You were on the Beagle. You’re a member of the Citium. I read the reports. It was subtle, but I could hear your voice in them. And the dates coincide with what Peyton told me about you—and her father. Was he on the Beagle when it sank? The dates match.”

  Lin sat in an armchair by the bay window and motioned for Desmond to sit on the couch.

  He remained standing.

  “Sit down, Desmond.” Her voice was flat, commanding.

  He sat down and leaned forward, elbows on his thighs.

  “Why are you here?”

  Desmond had always liked that about Lin: she cut to the chase.

  “I assumed that Yuri recruited me because I had been asking questions about the Citium. I found the organization while working at a startup. SciNet.”

  He waited, hoping Lin would volunteer information. She simply stared at him.

  “But I don’t think that’s true,” he continued. “I think you told him to recruit me.”

  Desmond searched her face. She gave away nothing.

  “I want to know why.” He paused. “I think I deserve that.”

  Lin finally looked away. She sighed. “Before Yuri recruited you, we removed all the photos from the logs—of him, me, and Peyton’s father. I assumed you wouldn’t put it together. I rarely underestimate people, Desmond.”

  “Why? Why me?”

  “Peyton.”

  “Peyton?”

  “You broke her heart.”

  The words hit Desmond with the force of an elephant rifle. “I never meant—”

  “I know you didn’t. What happened… was circumstances beyond your control.” Lin’s voice fell to a whisper. “I know about that. I know what it’s like to
lose the love of your life. She hasn’t been the same since you left.”

  “I—”

  “Listen, Desmond. She never will be. And neither will you. But you can be. The Looking Glass can heal those wounds.”

  “So it’s true, what Yuri promised me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s why you had me recruited.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want?”

  “What every parent wants: for my daughter to be happy. For her life to be better than mine.”

  They sat in silence then. Finally, Desmond spoke. “Should I tell Yuri… that we talked?”

  Lin exhaled through her nose. “Don’t bother. Yuri Pachenko is always a step ahead—of everyone. I suspect he already knows you’re here. And I don’t know this for a fact, but I’d bet he’s listening to us right now.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Go back and finish. If you give up, you’re giving up on her.”

  Chapter 21

  Conner could smell the smoke from the growing blaze in the distance. The chatter over the radio told a story of chaos and disorder. The fire was spreading from home to home, and people were evacuating—breaking curfew—to escape before it reached them.

  Through the bay window in the living room, he saw a garage door open. A black BMW pulled onto the street and sped away.

  He made his way to the garage, where the van’s back doors sat open. Dr. Park was inside, staring at a flat screen with wavy lines in blue, green, and red.

  “How long?”

  Park didn’t look up. “Not long. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes.”

  Conner wondered if they had that long.

  He retreated back into the home, through the kitchen, and into Lin Shaw’s bedroom. On the dresser was a picture of Peyton, Andrew, Madison, and Lin at the Grand Canyon. An apt metaphor for the person not pictured: the children’s father, Lin’s husband, William.

  Conner picked up the picture—and stopped. He felt something on the back—a piece of metal. He turned over the frame.

  A key was taped to the back.

  It was small, the right size for a padlock, or perhaps a safe. The head and shoulder were painted white, while the shaft, teeth, and tip were plain silver. Why?

  He pulled drawers from the dresser and emptied them, searching for a padlock or safe. He pulled the covers off the bed and flipped the mattress. He rifled through the closet. Nothing.

  He went to the window and scanned the back yard for a garden shed or storage building. Nothing there either. He went from room to room, ransacking the house.

  Where was the last place anyone would look?

  He walked into the hall, reached for the cord, and pulled down the stairs to the attic. They wobbled and creaked as he climbed. He pulled the string connected to the exposed light bulb. Empty. Nothing up here but exposed rafters, a buzzing HVAC unit, and blown-in insulation.

  He walked back down the stairs, frustrated.

  If the key was to a safe, he would have found it by now. Had Lin Shaw left the key just to mess with anyone who invaded her home? He wouldn’t put it past her. But he wasn’t ready to give up.

  He walked back into the bedroom.

  The room had no walk-in closet, just two strip closets hidden behind louvered folding doors, standard for the era. He compared the insides. Yes—there was a difference. The one on the right had extra white molding, like what would surround a window or door. The strips ran along the back corners, where the side walls met the back wall.

  Now he was getting somewhere.

  He tossed the clothes on the floor, pushed against the back wall. It gave, just a little, but too much for regular drywall on studs. He searched the entire back wall, but there was no keyhole.

  A small, two-level shoe rack lay on the floor. He threw it out, revealing only the narrow planks of the hardwood floor.

  Conner settled back onto his haunches. As his eyes moved over the white, wooden base molding, he stopped. One part didn’t reflect light like the rest. He ran his hand over it, and felt the wood turn to metal—a round disc. A small piece of computer paper had been clear taped in the middle. He tore it off.

  A keyhole.

  He put the tip of the key on the face of the lock and scratched, revealing silver metal. He smiled. Very clever. Before painting the lock to match the trim, Lin had inserted the key, so as not to get paint inside the keyhole. That explained the strange paint pattern on the key.

  He slid the key in, and heard a click as he turned the cylinder. He pushed against the back wall. It didn’t swing wide, only cracked a few inches, but it was enough for Conner to squeeze through.

  A string hung down from a light bulb, just like in the attic. He turned it on, then stared, mesmerized, at what he saw. He quickly closed the wall behind him and squatted to examine the items Lin had hidden. For good reason.

  In the corner, an old military uniform was folded up. Conner knew it hadn’t been worn in over seventy years; the nation that issued it no longer existed. But the Nazi uniform was unmistakable.

  Beside the garment sat a shoebox. Conner carefully removed the lid. A stack of photographs lay inside, mostly black and white, with creases like cracks in concrete, worn ends, and rounded corners. Most were of a middle-aged man, Caucasian, European descent.

  On the wall, a world map had been spread out and dotted with colored pushpins. The pins marked locations outside major cities, but Conner didn’t recognize their significance. He drew out his phone, snapped pictures of everything in the tiny room, and uploaded them to the Citium server.

  Then he dialed a phone number.

  “Yes,” Yuri said, emotionless as always.

  “I found something at Lin Shaw’s house. You need to see it.”

  Chapter 22

  The vast situation room was teeming with activity. Yuri’s people were performing admirably, moving the pieces into place. Soon the Looking Glass would come online, and his life’s work would be complete.

  Yuri stepped through, avoiding the empty coffee cups that littered the floor like debris washed up on a beach, and entered the conference room, where Melissa Whitmeyer and two other ops techs were waiting.

  As soon as he sat down, the red-haired woman began her report.

  “The dev team estimates they’re halfway finished on Rapture Control. They wish to remind us that estimating completion progress is not an exact science.”

  She waited for Yuri, who simply nodded.

  Whitmeyer turned the page and exhaled. This was bad news; Yuri sensed it.

  “We just heard from Captain Mikhailov on the Invisible Sun. They’ve searched the surface and the Beagle. The incursion team she sent is dead.” Whitmeyer paused. “She’s identified evac locations and is preparing to search them, beginning with Post/Rogers—”

  “Tell her not to bother. Lin Shaw is gone. And we can assume she found what she was searching for on the Beagle.”

  “We’ve activated our assets embedded in governments. No reports of contact yet.”

  “There won’t be. Lin is too smart for that. She’ll stay off the radar until she needs to surface.”

  “Where does that leave us?”

  “Chasing her is futile,” Yuri said. “We need to figure out where she’s going—and be there waiting. And we need to figure out what exactly she’s working on. She no doubt has collaborators. If her project is a threat to the Looking Glass, even containing her might not be enough.”

  “Suggestions?”

  “Dig deep into her past. I want a list of all the locations that might have meaning for her. All the locations that are tied to those scientists who died on the Beagle. Find the intersection points. I want small teams to stake out the locations. Don’t ask, just send them as soon as you identify potential targets. And I want a tactical team prepped and ready to go on a moment’s notice.”

  Chapter 23

  The plane flew through the darkness toward the North Pole. The shortest route to Oxford was over the top
of the Earth, past Greenland and Iceland.

  Peyton sat in a chair facing a long couch that held her mother, Avery, and Nigel. The two SEALs stood, hovering nearby.

  “Lewis Carroll. Author of Alice in Wonderland,” Avery said. “Though the sequel seems more relevant: Through the Looking-Glass. But how did you get to Lewis Carroll from ‘A Liddell’?”

  “A Liddell is Alice Liddell,” Lin said. “She was the inspiration behind the novel. She was a girl at the time Carroll wrote the book. Her father was the dean of Christ Church, a college within the university. And Carroll—his real name was Charles Lutwidge Dodgson—studied at Oxford and became a professor there. He was a polymath—a writer, logician, mathematician, photographer, even an Anglican deacon.”

  “Yeah,” Nigel said. “Didn’t know all that. Here’s what I do know: he’s dead. Has been for a while. Like since the 1800s.”

  “True enough,” Lin said. “But the Bodleian has been around far longer than that. Since the 1200s. And it’s famous for keeping rare and first edition books. If I’m right, we’re looking for one of those first editions. A rare first edition of Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland.”

  Off the coast of Greenland, the sun broke above the horizon. Peyton watched the soft orange glow turn to rays of white. It blinded her at first, and a throb of pain came next, quickly, like fingers pressing on her eyeballs. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt the warmth touch her face. She hadn’t seen the sun for a month and hadn’t realized until now how much she had missed it.

  The last month had revealed so much about her life she hadn’t known. The truth about her father and brother. Her mother’s involvement in the Citium. Desmond’s. It was like she had lived her life in darkness. Now the truth was coming to light. It hurt at first, but she was slowly beginning to open her eyes. She saw the sun on the horizon. And she was ready for it.

  Chapter 24