Creeping down a corridor, Brett heard voices and the tinkle of glass. They’d found the door. Torchlight flashed across a wall and she stopped her advance. As an FBI agent she’d brushed up on her Spanish, but she couldn’t remember if all Peruvians spoke it. There was only one way to find out.
She switched on the corridor’s lights. ‘Hola. Soy un agente federal de los Estados Unidos de América. Estoy investigando la escena del crimen.’
Brett held her breath and heard some muttering before someone said, ‘Mana intindinichu.’
She cursed. That isn’t Spanish.
‘¡Hark'ay!’ someone else said. ‘¿Imataq sutiyki?’
She crept closer to the door and held out an open hand.
Gunshots rang out and Brett snatched her hand back. ‘Don’t shoot; I’m a U.S. federal agent!’
A flurry of furious commands came back in the same obscure language.
‘I have three terrorist suspects,’ she said, ‘please, don’t shoot! ¡No disparar!’
‘Show them to us,’ a voice said.
At last, she thought, someone who understands. ‘Okay, stay where you are and I’ll bring them out.’
‘No tricks, señorita.’
Brett ran back down the corridor to find the others. They were nowhere to be seen. Peering back the way she’d come, she saw a man duck his head through the door. He wore a police uniform. Brett held up a hand to him and he gave her a nod in recognition.
More shouting echoed down the corridor and the man disappeared to join in with his colleagues’ slanging match. They sounded scared and disorganised and Brett wondered if the policeman’s friends weren’t police, but militia. If that was the case they could all be in a lot of danger. She’d heard about the corruption and breakdown of law and order in the South American countries. Things could get out of hand very quickly if she wasn’t careful. The sound of a rifle being cocked reached her ears.
Brett slipped off her pistol’s safety and strode into another hallway, her eyes searching. Where are they? Jogging up a flight of stairs, she saw movement and trained her gun.
‘It’s me!’ Jessica said, a hand outstretched.
Brett lowered the gun a fraction. ‘Where are the others?’
Before she could answer, torchlight shone up the darkened stairwell and Jessica disappeared from view. Brett swore and followed, but the light behind vanished, forcing her to stop in a doorway. Feeling her way in the black, she found another light switch and turned it on.
♦
Jessica’s heart rate quickened. Brett can’t be trusted. She’d heard the FBI agent speak to one of the policemen, or whoever it was that sought them out. She would turn them over the first chance she got. Now that Brett knew Joiner had been responsible for her father’s escape, she would be after blood. The woman was single-minded. Jessica had met people like her before. They refused to bend, unable to let go of years of training and indoctrination.
Another gunshot reverberated through the building and she heard Eric call out. Disorientated in the dark, she found herself running forward.
‘Eric, she said, her voice hushed, ‘where are you?’
There was no answer.
Eyes straining to see, she bumped into a wall and she stopped to listen.
All was quiet.
The handle on her gun felt slick in her sweating palm and she adjusted her grip before moving on. Senses heightened, Jessica stepped into another corridor.
Powerful arms grabbed her from behind. Jessica screamed and her gun discharged. The dark lit up with a flash and a bang and she was released.
Strip lights blinked on down the corridor and halfway down Brett knelt with her gun trained on Jessica. ‘Put it down!’ she shouted.
A man in camos appeared beyond the FBI agent at the end of the hall, his assault rifle aimed at her back.
With no time to think, Jessica raised her gun and pulled the trigger.
Brett returned fire. Two shots in quick succession.
Silence followed before the sound of a body hitting the floor made Jessica glance round.
A policeman lay dead behind her, his pistol resting in limp fingers.
Brett turned to see the dead form of the other attacker felled by Jessica moments before. Standing, the FBI agent ran forward and grasped Jessica’s shoulders. ‘MOVE!’
Jessica felt dazed. I’ve just killed someone.
Another man appeared at the far end of the hallway. Letting out a cry of anguish, he picked up his dead friend’s automatic weapon and bullets flew.
Brett dived forward and propelled Jessica through a doorway. They hit the floor hard and both their guns skittered away into the dark. Brett lurched to her feet, but Jessica remained sitting, frozen in abject terror. The militia man appeared in the doorway, rifle aimed straight at her. He depressed the trigger; the gun clicked but failed to fire. The man struggled with the mechanism and Brett leapt to grab the weapon’s barrel. The two of them grappled before the gun discharged. Brett fell back into the corridor and the man unleashed a barrage of shots at point blank range. The FBI agent dropped to the floor and the man turned his gun on Jessica, who rolled aside, chased by bullets. The deafening onslaught stopped as the man’s clip emptied. In the half-light Jessica saw a glint of steel and she scrambled towards it. The man advanced, kicking tables and chairs aside as he switched out his magazine for another. He pulled back the cocking leaver and Jessica flipped onto her back and fired her pistol. One – two – three shots rang out. The man’s expression turned to surprise as he toppled sideways, blood gushing.
Jessica lay there for a moment in shock, revolver in hand.
‘Jessica,’ Eric said, appearing from nowhere, ‘are you okay?’
Professor Steiner stepped past him and helped her to her feet.
‘Are you hurt?’ Steiner said, bringing her into the light.
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Then she remembered. ‘Brett—’
They turned to the FBI agent who lay in the hallway, unmoving. Blood was everywhere.
‘Oh, my God.’ Jessica’s voice shook.
Professor Steiner put a finger to Brett’s throat. ‘She has a pulse.’
Brett’s eyes fluttered open and she reared up, gasping for air. She tore open her shirt to reveal a cluster of bullets embedded in her protective vest. Her fingers scrabbled at Velcro fasteners and Steiner helped her remove the bulletproof jacket and her breathing eased.
‘But the blood,’ Eric said.
‘It’s not hers.’ Jessica pointed a shaky finger at the dead body of the policeman Brett had saved her from before.
Waving away their assistance, Brett struggled to her feet and stood bent over with her hands on her knees.
‘I owe you my life,’ Jessica said, moving closer.
The agent stared up at her before her eyes grew wild. With a snarl, she surged forward and Jessica found herself slammed against a wall with thick fingers crushing her throat.
Before Eric and Steiner could react, Brett hauled her to the prone body of the Peruvian police officer and Jessica was held down to look into the man’s unseeing face.
‘Look what you made do,’ Brett said, between clenched teeth. ‘LOOK!’
Jessica turned her head away, but Brett forced it back. ‘I told you to stay where you were, I had it under control!’
‘You were going to turn us over to them,’ Jessica said, looking into the dead man’s eyes. ‘I heard you.’
Brett gave the back of her head one last shove and released her. ‘You heard shit; you put me in danger, that’s what you did, acting the fucking hero.’
All Jessica could see was blood on the floor, on the walls … on her hands. The taste of bile built at the back of her throat.
‘Are there anymore?’ Steiner said, his tone urgent.
Brett regained her composure and shook her head. ‘That’s it. I only heard three voices.’
‘You’re both lucky to be alive.’
Brett looked down at the man she’d killed.
‘I wonder if he had any family.’
‘Don’t do that to yourself,’ Steiner said. ‘You did what you had to do.’
‘Did I?’ she said, eyes fierce. ‘And what do you know? This probably makes you happy, makes you think we’re the same,’ – she prodded him with a finger – ‘but I’m nothing like you, do you hear me? Nothing!’ She gazed at them all. ‘I’m a federal agent and you’re wanted criminals, nothing has changed.’
Jessica steadied herself by avoiding looking at the bodies around them. ‘Then why did you save me?’
A glimpse of confusion suppressed Brett’s anger.
She didn’t know.
Jessica could see the tortured expression on Brett’s face, an expression that must have mirrored her own. I’ve just killed two men. Two people won’t get up tomorrow – because of me. The thought horrified her and she lent against a wall and retched.
♦
Brett Taylor walked over to the police officer and bent down next to him. The smell of blood and the faint whiff of excrement wafted over her, turning her stomach. The collar on his uniform had folded back on itself so she rearranged it back to neatness. Her eyes worked their way up to his face and the blank expression that stared off into the infinity of death. An image of Colonel Samson flashed before her eyes.
‘I’m not my father,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I’m not a killer.’
With a steady hand she closed the man’s eyelids and remained by his side as the living moved away, her melancholic thoughts haunted by the whisperings of dread.
♦
Professor Steiner guided the traumatised newsreader away from the scene. ‘Let’s get back to the control room. We don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to.’
The young German gave a nod while Steiner led Jessica back to where they’d been conversing with Bic.
‘I don’t think she’s right in the head,’ Eric said when they were out of earshot of the FBI agent.
‘Like father, like daughter,’ Steiner said.
Eric gave him a look of incomprehension. ‘I don’t understand this expression.’
‘Der Apfel fällt nicht weit vom Stamm,’ Jessica said in translation, her voice weary.
Eric nodded in understanding. ‘Were your parents from Germany, Professor?’
‘My great-grandfather, I believe.’
Eric brightened. ‘Maybe we’re related.’
‘Maybe,’ Steiner said, leading them on, his thoughts anywhere but in the past.
As they reached their destination, the lights in the room blazed bright and the wallscreen glowed to life.
Steiner’s expression turned guarded as he saw a new face on-screen, a dark-haired man of middle years, with intelligent eyes.
‘Is everyone okay, Professor Steiner?’ the man said.
Steiner sat Jessica down on a chair, removed his jacket and draped it round her shoulders. ‘None of us is okay, but we’re alive.’
‘Alive is better than dead, Professor Steiner.’
‘So this is the real you, is it?’ Steiner said. ‘The elusive B.I.C., in the flesh?’
‘It is.’ A self-deprecating smile crept across Bic’s face. ‘Am I such the disappointment?’
‘I don’t care what you look like. We need to hear this message of yours and get out of here.’
The hacker’s expression turned serious. ‘You are correct. Time is ticking. I am just finalising the array’s realignment coding as we speak.’ Bic turned away from the camera and the sound of keystrokes could be heard.
Seconds passed before the noise ceased.
‘There,’ he said, facing forward again, ‘it is done.’
A number of consoles in the room came out of hibernation, their screens blinking on one by one. Data windows cascaded across them while a great metallic groan sent a shudder through the building.
Eric looked around in alarm. ‘What’s happening?’
Steiner pointed out of the window at the vast array of dishes. ‘The radio telescopes are repositioning, along with the one on top of this building.’
Akin to some kind of mechanical ballet, the huge white saucer-like antennas shifted as one, swivelling up and round to face in the opposite direction.
Once their movement ceased, a strange oscillating noise came through the room’s speakers.
‘Turn it down!’ Jessica said, putting her hands to her ears.
The volume decreased before the signal repeated itself.
Steiner moved to look at one of the screens. ‘That’s the signal?’
‘Yes,’ Bic said. ‘Why? Do you recognise it?’
Steiner wasn’t sure. It did seem familiar somehow. He sat down at the console and brought up a piece of software to analyse it. After a minute or so he had it. A message was buried within, waiting to be pieced together from its fractured state. ‘I think it’s Morse code.’
‘Well done, Professor Steiner,’ Bic said. ‘You are correct.’
‘And you’re telling me you didn’t figure that out?’
‘It appears to be a set of co-ordinates in three dimensions,’ Bic continued, ignoring the question. ‘A trajectory, to be precise.’ Bic’s image disappeared to be replaced by a graphical representation of the Earth. Above it a small line traced an arc in the black of space. ‘Do you still believe the signal is fake, Professor Steiner?’
‘I never doubted it for second,’ Steiner said, his tone dry.
Bic chuckled. ‘You doubt it now, do you not?’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, before noticing something else.
‘There seems to be another aspect to the information,’ Bic said, seeing it too.
Steiner studied the data and then realised what it represented. ‘It’s a fourth dimension.’
‘Indeed – time.’
‘Which allows us to pinpoint the velocity of the source,’ Steiner said, ‘along with its exact location as it moves through space.’
‘Just so, Professor Steiner, just so. I’ll enter the new parameters and we will track its flight.’ Bic adjusted the input into the room’s computer consoles and the information displayed on their screens altered to match.
‘Whatever it is,’ Steiner said, ‘it’s in deep orbit.’
The radio dishes in the array shifted a short distance, sending another groan reverberating through the building. Bic then set them to track the signal’s source as it moved.
Steiner waited, listening. He glanced at Eric, who sat stock still, ears pricked.
A new sound pulsed through the speaker system.
‘It is a live video transmission,’ Bic said, sounding excited. ‘I’ll put it on-screen.’
The trajectory representation shrank to a smaller window while Bic reappeared in another section of the wallscreen. A third window then popped up in the middle with a green progress bar in the centre and a flashing word above it:
PROCESSING SIGNAL
The bar flashed solid green and disappeared to be replaced by a fuzzy image. Lines of static cut across the screen and the occasional flash of grey and white pixels produced a stuttering, disjointed picture.
Steiner could just make out a mass of buttons, dials and switches in the background.
‘That looks a bit like the cockpit of our drone,’ Jessica said.
A shadow moved across the camera and a man positioned himself in front of it. He reached out to adjust a dial and his image came into focus.
His lips moved as he spoke, but no sound came through.
Jessica moved forward, her arms hugging her body as if cold. ‘Can he see us?’
‘He can, Jessica Klein,’ Bic said.
‘This is—’ The transmission crackled. ‘—nusson. Can you … me?’
Steiner moved to the centre of the room as Brett rejoined them. ‘Please repeat your last,’ he said, ‘your audio is breaking up.’
The man pressed a couple of buttons and turned another dial. ‘Can you hear me now, over?’
‘Roger that,’ Steiner said. ‘Five by five.�
��
A look of relief passed over the man’s face. ‘Thank the gods. I’d given up hope anyone would answer.’
‘You’re lucky,’ Steiner said, ‘your signal was well hidden.’
The man’s expression turned guarded. ‘Who do you work for? I don’t recognise your output.’
‘We’re civilians.’
‘And you’re in charge?’
Steiner looked around him. He was so used to authority he’d just assumed control, but no one appeared to mind. ‘Of a sort,’ he said, realising his hands felt steady and relaxed.
‘Do any of you work for the GMRC?’
Steiner shifted his stance. ‘I used to, but we had a difference of opinion. Everyone else you see has no affiliation to the GMRC whatsoever. In fact, I’d go as far as to say they are as far from the GRMC as can be.’
The man considered him for a moment. ‘What happened to make you leave?’
‘It seems certain people thought me an inconvenience, and believed that I’d be of better service dead.’
‘What was your position?’
Steiner hesitated. He didn’t want to scare the man off, but equally he didn’t want to give information away to Bic either. ‘I worked on the Subterranean Programme as an engineer.’ And it was the truth. That he was also the Director General of the whole division was best left unsaid.
‘If that’s true you’ll know the name of the base in Colorado.’
Steiner grimaced in recollection. ‘USSB Steadfast.’
The man nodded in satisfaction.
‘Who are you?’ Steiner said. ‘Why are you trying to hide?’
‘My name is Pilot Commander Tyler Magnusson, I’m a NASA astronaut and acting Captain of the United States Space Station Archimedes of which,’ he paused, composing himself, ‘of which I am the sole survivor.’
Steiner’s expression grew grim. Bic hadn’t been telling lies, at least in part. The rest had to be confirmed, but Steiner knew the truth when he heard it. ‘Commander, what happened up there? What of the other space stations?’
2041 Sanctuary (Let There Be Light) Page 37