by Baker, Adam
Tunnel light shafted through the windows and lit swirling dust.
Amanda brushed sand from a heavy mahogany desk. She looked through a door into the adjoining carriage. A banquette table and chairs.
‘What is this?’ asked Amanda. ‘Some kind of palace on wheels?’
‘Pretty much.’
Voss climbed into the carriage.
‘Where’s Jabril?’ asked Amanda.
‘Haven’t seen him.’
‘Go look. We’re about to leave. See if he still wants to die in this fucking mine.’
‘I brought a gift.’
Voss hauled Gaunt up into the carriage.
He kicked Gaunt’s legs from under him. The man fell to his knees. He turned to look at Voss.
‘What the fuck are you doing? We had a deal.’
‘The guy says we are on a clock,’ said Voss. ‘Says they are going to sterilise the whole fucking area.’
He took Gaunt’s Thuraya sat phone from his pocket and passed it to Lucy. She examined it.
She stood over Gaunt and kicked him in the gut. He rolled foetal on a Persian rug.
‘What was your mission?’
‘Check out the valley,’ he gasped. ‘Assess the current level of contamination. Retrieve the virus, if possible.’
‘And now?’
‘Mission failed. They’ll fry the entire valley.’
‘What are we talking about? F16s? B52 strike?’
‘A massive thermobaric bomb, big as a bus. It’s called a Sentinel. Blast area wide as a tactical nuke. It’ll airburst over the valley, incinerate everything in a two-mile radius. Burn like the sun. Turn sand to glass.’
‘Fuck,’ muttered Amanda.
‘The over-pressure will break every bone in your body. Then the heat will turn you to ash.’
‘I get the picture. How long have we got?’
‘At a guess, the plane is already in the air, en route from the Emirates. Probably took off at sunrise. Four or five hours’ flight time. We don’t have long.’
Lucy held up the sat phone.
‘Call your boss. Cancel the raid.’
Gaunt shook his head.
‘He won’t listen to me.’
Lucy threw the phone onto a table. She turned to Voss.
‘He said you made a deal.’
Voss fetched the missile case from the quad. He set it down on the carriage floor.
‘The virus,’ said Voss. ‘You said it yourself. We’re old. Used up. This is our last war. We can get a few dollars for the gold. But the virus is our true meal ticket. We can make a trade. Put ourselves on easy street.’
Lucy drew her pistol. She dug the barrel into Gaunt’s ear.
‘What about Toon? Fucker shot him in the head.’
‘Toon was my best friend,’ said Voss. ‘He’d walk through hell for any one of us. If he were here right now, he would take the deal. He’d want us to walk away rich. End our run ahead of the game.’
‘Jabril says this shit has to be destroyed. I think he’s right.’
Lucy crouched and flipped hasps. She lifted the case lid. She took the glass virus cylinder from its foam bed, her face lit blue.
‘Think about it,’ said Voss. ‘Want to spend the rest of your life living out of a bag? One fucked up warzone after another? That litre of liquid is worth millions. Tens of millions. We could have a whole new life. Go where we want, be what we want. All we have to do is deliver that shit to Baghdad.’
Lucy stroked the glass.
‘This is the United States government we’re talking about,’ said Voss. ‘The good guys. They just want to study this bug in a lab somewhere. They wouldn’t use it. They don’t want to wipe out cities. Shit, for all we know they might tweak this stuff and cure cancer.’
She shook her head.
‘I don’t trust governments. I’ve seen too many good men die for no reason.’
She replaced the cylinder and closed the case.
‘We burn it.’
Voss drew his pistol and pointed it at Lucy.
‘I can’t let you do it, boss. I just can’t.’
Lucy slowly got to her feet.
‘Hold on, Voss. Take a moment. Think it through.’
‘I’m taking the virus. You can come with me, or stay behind.’
Amanda raised her rifle. Voss shot her in the thigh. She fell to the floor, clutching her leg, hand already wet with blood.
‘Throw down your shit,’ he said. ‘Come on. Both of you. Throw down.’
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘We’ve finally got our hands on a big score. I’m not going to let you put a match to it.’
Knives and guns clattered on the floorboards.
Lucy’s assault rifle lay across a table. Her hand twitched like she was itching to snatch it up.
Voss took aim at Amanda’s head.
‘Try it. I’ll drill your girlfriend through the eyes.’
Amanda limped along the tunnel track. She held Lucy for support.
‘We’ll be all right, babe,’ murmured Lucy. ‘Just have to keep it together.’
‘Keep moving,’ said Voss.
They passed ore trucks and box cars.
Gaunt walked beside Voss. His hands were still tied.
‘You going to cut me loose?’
‘I might.’
‘Don’t get any ideas,’ warned Gaunt. ‘I know how to start the locomotive. Without me, you’re going nowhere.’
Voss prodded Lucy in the back with his gun barrel.
‘Over there. By the wall.’
A timber prop thick as a telegraph pole supporting a roof beam.
Lucy and Amanda embraced the prop. Voss lashed their wrists with plastic cuffs.
The tunnel lights flickered and dimmed for a moment. The generator running dry.
‘How many times have I saved your life?’ asked Lucy, challenging Voss to make eye contact. ‘Think about it. How many times?’
He checked her cuffs.
‘Sorry, boss. I don’t want to die poor.’
Gunshot. The whine and spark of a pistol round hitting an ore truck.
Gaunt and Voss took cover behind a box car.
Lucy and Amanda crouched at the foot of the roof beam and tried to cover their heads.
Jabril shot from deep within the cavern. Voss returned fire. Gunshots echoed through the tunnel. Bullet strikes punched deep into the brittle limestone roof, bringing down dust and rock chunks. A ricochet smacked the tunnel prop, showering Lucy with splinters. She gnawed the tuff-tie binding her wrist, tried to bite through the plastic.
Voss sprayed random fire. He and Gaunt ran for the locomotive.
Lucy waited until the sound of their footfalls diminished to silence.
‘Jabril,’ she shouted. ‘Over here.’
Lucy craned to look at Amanda’s wounded leg. Camo fabric and desert boot wet with blood.
‘How you doing?’ she asked.
‘Not so great,’ said Amanda. Her face was chalk white.
‘It’s not an arterial bleed, but we’ve got to patch that hole.’
Distant engine splutter from the locomotive. Tunnel echo. The diesel engine turning over, trying to engage.
‘There goes our ride.’
The locomotive cab. Gaunt held out his hands.
‘Come on. Cut me the fuck loose.’
‘Just drive the damn train.’
Gaunt studied dials. He tapped a gauge.
‘The fuel tank is nearly dry.’
‘Then what’s the fucking point?’
‘I talked it over with Koell. This train was my way out of the valley if the choppers went down. He said there was a fuel truck, out there in the convoy. Locomotive-grade diesel.’
‘It probably got blown to shit. Nothing but scrap iron.’
‘I saw a couple of intact trucks among the wrecks. We have to check. We have to know for sure. Come on. Don’t pussy out on me now. Koell might be ready to pull the plug on this operation, but h
e can still tap a massive black budget. You want twenty, thirty million in unmarked bills? He wouldn’t give a shit. Wouldn’t catch his breath. He’s been chasing this virus for a decade. Probably dreams about it each night. If we show up in Baghdad with the virus, he’ll cut a deal, no question. We’ll show him a phone picture, whet his appetite. Make the exchange in the underground garage at the Al-Rasheed. Think about it. A holdall full of cash. Seat on a military flight back to Vandenberg. Like that idea? Couple of days from now, we could be in California. Palm trees. Beaches. Girls. More money than you can spend. We just have to keep our balls and get through the next few hours. Find the truck and pump some gas.’
The tunnel lights flickered.
‘The generator,’ said Gaunt. ‘Must be running out of gas.’
‘Get us rolling.’
‘Come on, man. Cut me loose.’
Voss flipped open his lock-knife, sliced the cuffs and pushed Gaunt towards the breaker panel.
‘Get to work.’
Gaunt opened the panel. A red switch. ENGINE PRIME.
Fuel pumps engaged.
Injectors loaded.
Batteries to START. A thud. A second thud. The great engine cylinders fired and warmed up. A rumble to a roar.
‘Yeah, baby,’ shouted Gaunt. The overhead cabin light burned bright. The console lit up.
A black fog of diesel fumes started to fill the cab.
‘Close the fucking door.’
Gaunt sat at the driver’s console. He released the automatic brake. He pushed the throttle from Idle to Run. Amp needles twitched and rose. He released the second, independent brake. He pushed the throttle forward. Shriek of seized metal starting to shift and turn. The locomotive jerked. Black fumes belched from side exhausts. Carriages slammed and began to roll.
Voss reached across the control desk and flicked HEADLAMP. A fierce cone of light stabbed from the nose of the locomotive, illuminating the tunnel mouth, the beams and planks lying across the track.
‘Hold on.’
The locomotive bulldozed through the barrier. Splintered planks. Tumbling oil drums.
The engine rolled from the tunnel into daylight. A corroded behemoth. A two-hundred-and-fifty-ton dust-streaked juggernaut.
A soldier standing on the track. Mown down, broken by the plough and crushed to pulp beneath steel wheels.
The locomotive wound its way through the tight canyon, saurian diesel roar amplified by the high walls of the ravine.
‘You have to retrieve the virus,’ said Jabril. He flicked open his pocket knife. He cut Lucy and Amanda’s wrist ties. ‘That’s your responsibility. Your lives are a secondary consideration. You understand, yes? It must be destroyed at all costs.’
‘What about you?’
Jabril shook his head.
‘Too old. Too tired. This is your fight now.’
Lucy checked him out. He looked exhausted. He looked used up.
Amanda tied a bandana round her wounded thigh.
Lucy held the flashlight while Jabril lashed patties of plastic explosive to the roof support with duct tape. He ran twin flex cable. He pressed blasting caps into the putty. He wired the detonators to a white box.
CASTLEKEEP.
‘An automatic garage door mechanism,’ he explained. ‘Our acquisition team had five thousand shipped from China before the war began. We knew we couldn’t defeat the Americans by conventional means. We were prepared for a guerrilla war.’ He held up an infra-red key fob. ‘They are the perfect IED trigger.’
He twisted copper strands, wired the garage door mechanism to a fourteen-volt motorcycle battery.
‘That’s it. Firing circuit complete.’
They ran for the tunnel mouth.
They reached the tunnel entrance. Scattered planks and beams. A skeletal creature broken and limbless on the track.
Jabril helped unhitched the quad bike and set it upright. Lucy straddled the bike and gunned the engine. Amanda rode pillion.
Jabril gave Lucy his pistol. He pulled Raphael’s machete from the upturned trailer and gave it to Amanda.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Get out of here.’
Tyres spat dirt as the bike pulled away.
A figure in a red boiler suit lurking between box cars.
‘Hey,’ shouted Jabril. His voice echoed down the mine tunnel. ‘Hey, over here.’
Jabril jumped on a flatbed wagon. He took a flare from his pocket and struck the cap. It fizzed purple.
‘Hey. You there.’
Two figures shuffled from shadow and moved towards him.
‘Yes. That’s right.’
Jabril ran the length of three rail cars, then jumped down to the track.
‘Come on. That’s right.’
He backed deeper into tunnel darkness. The foul, rotting creatures stumbled in pursuit.
Jabril threw down the flare. It spluttered at his feet.
He took the key fob detonator from his pocket.
‘Come on, you poor bastards,’ he murmured wearily. ‘I think we all deserve a little sleep.’
The infected men shambled towards him, arms outstretched.
Jabril psyched himself to press the button.
‘Let’s bring this nightmare to a close.’
It should have been a moment of epiphany. His last seconds on earth. Last sights, last sounds. Last thoughts, last memories. But Jabril was tired and just wanted to die.
Teeth sank into his neck. Jabril dropped the fob and twisted free. He turned. Haq, chewing a mouthful of flesh.
Jabril sank to his knees clutching the pulsing wound in his neck. Blood bubbled between his fingers. A spreading, glistening stain across the shoulder of his linen suit.
He was seized by grasping hands. He kicked the jostling creatures. Nails tore his suit, dug into his flesh. One of the infected prisoners broke teeth as he gnawed the hook at the end of Jabril’s right arm.
Jabril shook himself free. He raked rail-shingle as he scrabbled for the fob. He snagged the keyring with his prosthetic hook.
He gripped the fob in the bloody fingers of his left hand.
He pressed the button.
Charges blew deep in the tunnels. Timber props instantly reduced to whirling splinters. Passageways filled with fire, rock-dust and tumbling rubble.
Spilt paperwork in the ammunition store instantly crisped and carbonised by inferno heat.
Drums of ethylene and formaldehyde stacked beneath Spektr burst and filled the cavern with fire. The orbiter was briefly lifted from its rail-car bed as if it were performing a vertical take-off, borne upward by a wave of flame.
The polythene bio-dome shrivelled. The scaffold frame collapsed.
The lab units were ripped apart by a series of vicious internal blasts, and crushed flat by a thousand tons of falling rock.
The main tunnel collapsed, ore wagons and box cars pulverised by an avalanche of limestone.
Jabril, and the soldiers that tore at his flesh, winked out of existence in a millisecond of concussive heat.
Fuel
Gaunt pulled back the throttle and hit the brake. The train slowed to a halt. The motor shuddered and died. They felt the shunt and clank of carriages jolting to a stop behind them.
They were at the mouth of the ravine, the point where the high canyon walls opened out into the wide valley basin.
Voss stood on the locomotive walkway. He watched a broiling wave of smoke and rock-dust sweep down the tight ravine towards him.
He stepped inside the cab and closed the slide door. The train was engulfed in a thick dust cloud. Nothing beyond the windows but swirling vapour.
‘Jabril pressed the button,’ said Voss. ‘Guess he was trying to bring the canyon down on us or something.’
‘So your friends are gone,’ said Gaunt. ‘Just you and me now.’
The swirling dust slowly dissipated, sunlight slowly filtering into the cab as the haze began to clear.
Gaunt took binoculars from his backpack and scanned the valley throug
h the side window of the cab. He surveyed the burned-out convoy, and the austere ruins of the citadel.
‘I don’t like it,’ said Voss. ‘Plenty of those fuckers out there. Chilled, for the time being, but it won’t take much to get them riled. A hornets’ nest, just waiting to be stirred.’
‘You want to walk through open desert in fifty-degree heat? Fuck that. Jabril made it, but he got lucky. We can ride this thing home. All we have to do is get some gas in the tank.’
Faint radio crackle. Voss took the sat phone from his backpack. He adjusted volume.
American voice:
‘Roger that, Angel Flight. We have your TAC visual. Holding at nineteen thousand feet.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Voss.
‘Encrypted frequency. Must be the plane. We can eavesdrop on their radio traffic. They’re requesting clearance to over-fly the US carrier group in the Gulf of Oman, as they move up the Saudi coast.’
‘Sure you can’t talk sense into them?’
‘These agency guys don’t give a shit. They follow orders. We’re expendable assets. Hired guns. They’ve got no use for us. They won’t hesitate to drop the bomb. Probably relish the chance. Prove to their boss they are ideologically pure. True believers, loyal to the cause.’
‘I have to try,’ said Voss. He pressed transmit.
‘Incoming plane, do you copy, over? Angel Flight can you hear me?’
No response.
‘Forget it,’ said Gaunt. ‘They won’t answer.’
‘Angel Flight, this is fire support team Bravo Bravo Lima Two. There are men on the ground. Do you copy, over? Do not bomb this site. There are men on the ground requesting urgent assistance. We require immediate evacuation. Please respond.’
No response.
‘How much time do we have left?’
‘Two, three hours tops,’ said Gaunt. ‘They fly fucked-up old freighters, make a few runs, then sell them to a wrecker’s yard. Junkers. The kind of planes that won’t attract attention on the taxiway of a third-world airfield. Russian cargo lifters. Old twin-prop Providers. They’ll fly slow up the Saudi coast then swing through southern Iraq. I’d say we have a two-hour window to fuel the train. After that we haul ass, on foot if necessary. Hang around any longer, and we burn.’