by S. T. Boston
“You should be very careful, Mr. Becker,” he growled. “You are in no position to be such a wise ass. Both of us would love to kill you; push us too far and it might just happen, and be damned with the consequences.”
Sam mentally scolded himself; at the moment his voice was his only form of defence, but if he didn't keep his mouth in check he'd push one of them to breaking point. Although his current position was dire, his survival instinct was strong. While he was breathing, he still had a chance.
“As I was saying, you're a liability, and what do we do with risks and liabilities?” Namtar asked.
Sam bit his lip and refrained from saying something smart.
“We manage it,” Namtar continued. He brought the disc down in front of Sam's eyes, so he could get a good look at it. “I'm not sure how familiar you are with the Gift, Mr. Becker, or if you know that it can be taken away faster than it is given.”
He paused again, but Sam didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply, nor did he feel remotely like begging Namtar not to do what he knew was coming, because in truth, he didn't give a shit about it. Other than its ability to make intense situations more survivable, Sam had no use for the Gift. He would let Namtar have his fun, believing that what he was about to do was paramount to torture. “This disc will send an electrical current though your body, and within that current is a signal that shuts down every single nanobot inside your blood. You will be returned to how you should be – mortal.”
“I guess I'll have to start buying anti-aging cream again,” Sam blurted, unable to keep a lid on his mouth.
“I can assure you that you won't find it the least bit funny the next time you get shot,” Namtar hissed, leaning forward and placing the disc on Sam's forehead. “Just relax. I'm told this hurts like a bitch.”
Sam watched a wicked smile spread over Namtar's lips, before he felt the cool disc on his clammy forehead. At first it seemed as if a coin was being pushed against his skin, and then the pain began. A multitude of tiny barbs bit into his flesh, securing themselves for whatever came next. He didn't have long to wait. A split-second later, Sam felt as if he'd just stuck a fork into an electric socket – his body convulsed, his back arched, but he was held down by the lap belts securing him to the seats. He wanted to cry out in agony but he held it in, clenching his teeth down so hard he thought they'd snap. The shock ended after what seemed like ages; Sam was sure it had only lasted a second or two, but it seemed much longer. He didn't even notice the barbs retracting.
“Now, unfortunately for you, there is only one way to test if this has worked,” Namtar grinned.
Sam was certain he didn't need to test a damn thing – Namtar wanted to do it, but he didn't give him the satisfaction of showing any weakness. “Do what you must,” he said, trying to sound confident. Sam watched Namtar take a small switch blade from the one-eyed guy, Croaker. Standing over him, Namtar held it in front of Sam's face, and for purely dramatic effect, flicked the sharp blade out.
“Don't worry,” Namtar said. “I won't go too deep.” He rolled up the sleeve of Sam's tee-shirt, exposing his shoulder – somewhere since the cottage he'd lost his fleece, which pissed him off as it was one of his favourites. Using the tip of the blade he pushed down, puncturing Sam's flesh. The pain was worse than the shock and much to Sam's embarrassment and Namtar's delight he finally let out a gasp of pain. Sam felt the metal slice through his skin, and blood leaked down and ran under his armpit. True to his word, Namtar didn't do nearly as much damage as he could have done and soon he was back, waving the dripping blade in front of Sam's eyes.
“Now let's see if it's worked, shall we?”
Sam could just see the wound by straining his neck. He didn't need to watch, he knew that this time he would need a bandage, possibly stitches. After five minutes, blood was still oozing steadily from the cut.
“I think we can call that particular procedure a blinding success,” Namtar announced. “No pun intended, Mr. Croaker,” he mused. “Can you fetch me the first aid box, that is, if you haven't used all the dressings yourself?”
A few minutes later Sam's wound was cleaned and dressed, a small red blotch, like ink on blotting paper, already blossoming on the white of the bandage. He tried to get comfortable but all the sensation in his hands and feet was gone. A few minutes later Sam's ears popped and he felt the familiar plunge of his stomach as the aircraft began descending.
“This is our first stop,” Namtar announced. “Portugal for a top-up of fuel which will allow us to complete the trip to Nazca.” Sam watched Namtar hand the knife back to Croaker, before he bent down and grabbed a pistol from one of the empty seats. Sam had seen this gun before, it was the weapon he'd been shot with in the cottage. “I'm going to keep you sedated for the rest of the trip, Mr. Becker; unfortunately, I don't have any kinder way to administer the drug.”
Sam watched Namtar grin as he raised the barrel, there was a soft pffssttt and the dart bit into his flesh. The thought of being knocked out for the rest of the trip was a welcome one, in fact. Gradually, the world began to grow dark, and yet again Sam began to sink to the bottom of that black abyss.
Chapter 33
President Hill listened to the Dae Wonsu with more than a little trepidation, and a healthy dose of scepticism thrown in for good measure. As the Dae Wonsu spoke, Hill glanced at the senior members of his administration and the ranking members of the armed forces. He could tell they were all thinking the same thing as him. What a crock of horse shit. The Dae Wonsu spoke perfect English and from the intelligence they had on him, which had flashed up onto their individual tablets during the call, Hill could see he'd attended Oxford University as a young man. It amused him the way countries which disliked the western way of life opted to use its education systems before heading home to fight against their western oppressors.
As he finished his in-depth account of how Tokyo had been wiped from the map, President Hill sat in silence, allowing a little tension to build. He wanted whoever was with the Dae Wonsu to feel it, too.
He sipped some water before he spoke, further increasing the tension. “Just where is your supreme leader?”
It was clear the question took the Dae Wonsu off guard, because it took him a full minute to answer. “I'm sure your intelligence is aware that Kim Jong-un died over two years ago from the virus you call the Reaper, along with any successors he might have had, so the military has taken over governing the country.”
“I'm sure that suited your plans very well,” Hill suggested coldly. The country had always maintained a closed-door policy and was tough to get intelligence from, but since the Reaper, getting information from them had been like trying to get blood from a stone. “I think it's fair to say he was merely a figurehead, controlled by his military leaders anyway.”
“Our nation's political arrangements are of no concern to your government, Mr. President,” the Dae Wonsu replied tersely.
“I would beg to differ,” Hill fired back. “You've just unleashed the first nuclear weapon to be used in anger, in close to a century. You've opened a door that could well lead humanity down a path from which it can't return.”
“Mr. President, I have told you we did not launch that attack! Our systems were compromised, someone took control of Kwangmyŏngsŏng and launched the weapon.”
“I trust you can provide tangible evidence to support your claim,” Liza Sherwood announced, her brow just managing to crease into a frown against the pressure of her tightly drawn back hair.
“We can send you the feed from the launch bunker, you will see the reactions of the two crew who were on station when it happened.” It was clear from the Dae Wonsu's tone that he didn't appreciate being addressed by a woman.
“A video that could easily have been staged, or recorded before the event using actors,” Sherwood replied, only too aware of the nation's ability for propaganda and spin. “We need to see evidence of your system being hacked. You will send us everything you have on file, from the moment you wen
t live. If you are speaking the truth, this shouldn't be an issue. I don't need to point out to you what could happen if you don't.”
“Miss Sherwood, we are only too aware of the dire situation at hand, but we currently have no control over Kwangmyŏngsŏng. We can neither audit, nor gain access to our systems,” the Dae Wonsu explained. He turned his attention back to Hill. “Mr. President, at this time we have no control over the nine twenty-five megaton weapons we still have in our arsenal.”
Hill's guts churned – there was a sincerity in the Dae Wonsu's voice which made him uneasy. “Just who does have control of your systems?” he barked.
“We don't know, but we have a theory and it's vitally important that you hear me out.”
“I'm listening,” Hill snapped.
“We lost Kwangmyŏngsŏng as soon as it went live; whoever took control apparently only wanted to fire one weapon, when they could have easily launched the other nine.”
“Your point being?”
“I fear this was a test, a test of a program they plan to put into action when you and your allies come online in the next few hours. Mr. President, you need to think very carefully before you bring your launch systems live. I bring this to you, and you alone, as I know you have the ear of many leaders. I am terrified that once the rest of the world comes online, something unthinkable is going to happen. Our nations have their differences, but ultimately, none of us want to see weapons of mass destruction used, none of us want to see our children's futures destroyed.”
“Send me what you have,” Hill commanded, “but you must appreciate that I'm treating this with a great deal of scepticism.”
“I understand,” the Dae Wonsu said. The line cleared and a second later, a video file arrived at the bunker. The tech team played it through to the large screen in the conference room.
Everyone watched in interest as the black and white clip played out, and Hill was pleased to discover it also had sound. He ordered a translation be made as soon as practicable, but even without the benefit of hearing it in English he could see what happened. The reactions of the two officers seemed absolutely genuine, but as Liza had rightly pointed out, it could have been filmed before the event. When the clip finished, Hill ran his hands through his greying hair and released a long sigh. “So – what do you think?” he asked his team. There was a long tentative pause, as if no one wanted to be the first to offer their opinion.
It was Chuck Leading who spoke up. “I think it's a load of shit, sir, if you'll pardon my language. If you want my opinion, they intended to use every nuke, but there was a problem with their antiquated systems and now the other birds in the nest are useless, and they're back-pedalling because they know what will happen when the big boys come back into the playing field. Even if they were hacked, which I very much doubt, their systems and firewalls aren't a patch on ours. It would be virtually impossible to hack every launch and defence system on the planet, and who the hell would want to do such a thing? No terrorist group that we know of is capable of such a thing.”
“Possibly,” President Hill commented, thinking back on how his intel teams had also been damn sure that no terrorist group had the technology to produce the Reaper. Ultimately, it was going to be his call – once again, he suspected if they survived the next twenty-four hours he really should get that 'The Buck Stops Here' shirt. “There's no way I'm going to leave this nation defenceless against nuclear attack. We continue as planned.” His voice sounded more convincing than he felt. Had it not been for the Reaper, the world would be well down the path to ridding itself of its fossil fuel dependency. It was still a road he was committed to, but they were a long way off. He cursed Russia for the stranglehold they had on the world, a stranglehold which had ultimately led to this shithouse situation. He had a horrible feeling that the Dae Wonsu was telling the truth, or there was a partial amount laced in with a cover story. The thing he had trouble getting his head around, was just who would have anything to gain by burning the world. It had to be a mistake, and he hoped to God it was.
Chapter 34
The first-floor room at the Barge Inn was small and functional, but most importantly, clean and tidy. Taulass had managed to negotiate a bundle of old copier paper from the bearded guy behind the bar, the same one who had served them breakfast earlier in the day, although to Adam it seemed like a week ago.
Once in the room, Adam ordered more food and drink – steaks with chips, and over the chips the cook had melted some vintage cheddar cheese. Despite the food smelling delicious and the steaks being cooked to perfection, none of them felt like eating much.
Lucie managed to consume the most food, although she'd mainly opted for the side salad, claiming that too much red meat was bad for her baby. She'd seemed intent on not letting her unborn child go hungry, despite how nauseous she felt with every bite. As the first few hours ticked by she'd started to come out of her shell a bit, although she was still visibly shaken by the idea that for a second time in a day, she'd potentially lost her husband. The rollercoaster of events was starting to show in her delicate features.
In conjunction with picking at the food, Oriyanna and Taulass started work, spreading blank sheets of paper out on the bed and scribbling notes in a language Adam had no hope of understanding. Long scrolled out equations formed on various sheets, which Taulass moved into positions which were either some chronological order, or the most advantageous positions for him to read them from. It became clear, early on, that his intellect in this matter outshone Oriyanna's by a considerable margin. On more than one occasion Adam saw her clasp her head in her hands, her blonde hair falling over her face. The pair spoke hurriedly in Arkkadian, the language strange and exotic and it felt like oral silk, even if he couldn't understand it.
Several times a full sheet of script and math was screwed into a ball by Taulass and launched in anger across the room, the way an angry student might treat an unsatisfactory dissertation. He seemed to be growing increasingly frustrated with the task in hand, leaving Adam wondering if he really could work out the computations required to make the plan of using the ship's transportation hub work. Adam couldn't really see how it could be so difficult to change the way the ship took its power feed, but he also accepted he knew diddlysquat about the subject. All he knew was that the process seemed painfully slow.
Around two hours after eating, and with both the Arkkadians still deep in consultation, Adam saw that Lucie had fallen asleep, propped up against a warm radiator. He took a pillow from the bed, having to move two sheets of paper covered in heavy scribbles, much to Taulass' disapproval. Carefully he shifted Lucie's slight frame and laid her out flat on the floor. In the small built-in wardrobe, he found some sheets and covered her with them.
As the light of the day gradually faded, Adam felt a growing need to grab some rest himself. Making himself comfortable in a small chair, he watched Oriyanna and Taulass with interest, feeling more than a little useless. His anxiety was growing by the minute, building up like the steam in a pressure cooker and he was sure it would eventually explode. In one corner of the room a small radio played, the half hourly news broadcasts filled with the story of the bombing of Tokyo, again and again. He'd filled Lucie in on the developing events before the food arrived, and despite not knowing anyone in the ruined Japanese capital, she'd wept all the same. Each time the news jingle played Adam fixed his attention to the radio, half expecting another city to have been hit. The news he feared never came, and as light from the small single-glazed window faded from a wet, drizzly grey to black, Adam drifted into a deep, dream-disturbed sleep.
His visions were filled with fast-changing scenes; in one he was back below the Great Pyramid, his body racked by fever. He was climbing down the rope, toward the hidden chamber which held the Tabut, and he could hear Oriyanna screaming, somewhere from the bottom. Only the rope had no end and the black pit below him seemed eternal, a perpetual fall with no bottom. At the top, a fire was burning, eating hungrily at the rope, as if it were a
fuse wire. No matter how fast he descended, the flames kept coming. When they reached his hands, the searing heat scalded his skin and he let go. As he fell the fire consumed his hands, spread up his arms and engulfed his torso. Opening his mouth to scream, flames flooded his throat, turning him to dust. Then the scene changed.
He was standing on the Arkkadian beach with Oriyanna, her golden hair fluttering in a light breeze, the way it had when he'd kissed her that evening over two years ago. It was an evening which had been the most perfect of his life, now though, something felt off, not right – almost foul. Above them the native bird species flew in large flocks, shrill cries filling the air, as if they were fleeing some unseen danger. The sky, which had been a stunning blue and framed Arkkadia's twin moons beautifully, was now blood red. Out across the crystal-clear ocean, Adam discovered what the birds were fleeing from. A wall of fire swept relentlessly toward them, boiling the sea as it came. He turned to run, but noticed Oriyanna's deep blue eyes had changed, replaced by a pair of evil amber irises. Those eyes fixed him to the spot and as her face distorted into a scream, she gripped his hands as he once again became enveloped in flames. He watched as she held him on the spot, and he saw her hair begin to burn, then her flesh, until all he was left holding were her blackened, skeletal hands. When he looked at his own hands they were the same, and then their bones burnt fiercely, turning to dust.
His next dream found him back in the RV, sitting in the passenger seat. The vehicle was lumbering along Trail Ridge Road, rain hammering onto the cab, hitting the windscreen like a spray of ball bearings. John Denver was on the radio, 'Annie's Song' drifting through the cab, but John's voice and his guitar were off-key. It all sounded out of tune, making Adam think of a bag of cats mewling in fear as they were cast into an icy lake. Adam didn't make it as far as finding Oriyanna this time, before once again the world around the RV was bathed in fire. This time he watched Sam burn before he, succumbed to the flames. Everything turned to dust.