Aftershock

by Sam Fisher

  ‘All right.’

  ‘The other thing is, you’ll need to unlock the door at the far end where it opens into Gamma. You can’t blow it out or even use the laser – it’s too dangerous. I have the lock code. I’ll send it to both you and Mai. Good luck.’

  Pete walked back to the others. Mai had managed to calm Nick down. Pete took her by the arm and told her what Mark had said.

  Glancing at her wrist, Mai saw the code had been sent through. ‘I’ll go first,’ she said. ‘Get the door open. I suggest you keep to the back.’

  ‘So, what’s happening?’ Harry asked, stepping up to Pete and Mai.

  Pete explained the situation to the group.

  ‘This is a fucking nightmare,’ Jim said slowly, shaking his head.

  ‘You’re right there,’ Archie nodded. Then he took Nick’s hand. ‘Come on, matey boy. Let’s get you over to see ya mum and dad, right?’

  Mai swung open the hatch and squeezed through. ‘I’ll call you from the other end,’ she told Pete, and headed off.

  They all waited in silence, straining to hear any indication that Mai had reached the far end of the tunnel some 80 metres away. Time seemed to slow. It felt as though an hour had passed before they heard Mai’s voice coming through Pete’s comms. ‘I’m at the far end,’ she said. ‘Just entering the code.’ They heard a click and Mai turning a handle. Then came the sound of metal grinding against metal as the door swung outward. ‘Through,’ she said. ‘Next one.’

  Pete and Archie lifted Nick into the opening and gave him a gentle push. He scrambled along faster than Mai. Kristy was next up. This time she did not hesitate, just plunged into the darkness, breathing heavily.

  She had been gone 20 seconds when Mark’s voice came over Pete’s comms. ‘Pete? Problem.’

  Harry was about to say something. Pete held up a hand to stop him. ‘Structural integrity is going.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jim exclaimed, stepping forward.

  ‘It’s not designed to take the stress we’re putting it under. It could go at any second.’

  ‘I see,’ Pete said calmly.

  ‘Kristy’s through,’ Mai said over the comms.

  ‘Right, Archie. You next,’ Pete said.

  ‘But...’

  ‘No buts ... Get in there. You’re wasting time.’

  The boy turned and dived into the hole.

  ‘Want to draw lots?’ Harry said and glanced at Jim. The American stared back at him. ‘No, Harry. I’m through gambling. What will be, will be.’

  Harry gave him a wan smile and was about to reply when Mai’s voice broke in. ‘Next.’

  Harry limped over to the portal and Pete helped him through the opening. ‘Go,’ he said and turned to Jim.

  ‘Pete ... Integrity reaching critical,’ Mark said through the comms. ‘How you going?’

  ‘Nearly there, Mark,’ Pete responded and caught Jim’s eye. The man looked resigned, supernaturally calm. ‘You lost your partner back there?’ Pete said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All the more reason for you to keep going, man.’

  ‘Yeah? And why would that be?’ Jim looked away for a moment.

  ‘Who else is going to tell people what a great guy he was?’

  Jim stared at Pete for a moment, his face completely expressionless. Then he looked up at the ceiling and sighed heavily.

  Pete heard his comms come alive and didn’t pause for a second. Squeezing Jim’s shoulder he nudged him towards the hole in the wall. ‘Make it fast, man. I don’t want to be left here too long.’

  Alone in the power dome, Pete felt absolutely isolated from the human race, but he was oddly calm. He had known this feeling before. In the army, when he had been staring a bomb in the face. He would have the clippers poised to cut a wire, and had no choice but to believe in himself. He had to convince himself he knew which wire to cut first. But in those moments, he felt suspended outside of reality, the sole inhabitant of a private world. He and the bomb were one. There was nothing else.

  Mai’s voice sounded in his comms, and for a split second he could not hear it. She was calling from another world. Then he sprang into action. He was in the tunnel in a flash, turning in the narrow tube and pulling the door shut behind him to seal off the power dome. All his senses were at max. He could hear creaking and straining and the movement of water currents outside the tunnel. From far off came the sound of the others. He shuffled forward as fast as he could.

  A loud crunch.

  He cried out involuntarily, but kept going.

  There was a high-pitched whistle as a steel door slammed down a few feet behind him. The whole tunnel shuddered. He knew what that meant. The first compartment had gone, the safety door had come down. He could only hope it was enough, that the rest of structure would now hold.

  He sprang forward, grasping at the floor, propelling himself on as fast as he could go.

  ‘Pete! It’s breaking up!’ Mark’s voice screamed from the comms. ‘GO, MAN. GO!’

  Pete could barely hear him. His heart was pounding, his breathing coming in desperate gasps as he pushed back on the floor.

  CRUNCH!

  The second compartment went a fraction of a second after Pete made it to the third and last portion of the tunnel. He could see the door ahead and Mai leaning in. ‘Come on,’ she yelled.

  She was only half a dozen metres away, but Pete knew she would close the door if she had to. She could not leave it too late, because, if the tunnel went, then water would flood into Gamma. He put everything he had into moving through the tunnel. His boots somehow found purchase on the slippery, uneven metal floor. He grasped at cables and junction boxes lining the walls. With his enhanced hearing, he could just discern the metal framework around him start to buckle. Tether lines snapping. Electrical cables fizz and shear.

  Three metres.

  Two.

  He could almost touch the door. He felt the walls shake. The floor under him split and he caught a glimpse of pipes and steel mesh. Steam shot up into his face. He recoiled, but did not miss a beat. Scrambling for dear life, his hand was a metre from the door. Mai was reaching out to grasp him. Then he felt her glove in his and he pushed with all his strength, tumbling forward into the opening, feeling the steel door slam shut millimetres from his toes. The room shuddered, as the tunnel crumpled like tinsel.

  56

  Pacific Ocean, Fiji

  Mark clicked off the comm link to Pete and Mai and let out a sigh of relief. ‘None of this got any easier,’ he thought.

  He jumped up from his seat and headed for the control room door. ‘Computer,’ he said, ‘is the Drebbel prepped and ready to go?’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  Mark walked quickly along the corridor leading from the control room to the elevator. It was a wide passageway with curved walls and windows looking out to the featureless black of the ocean. He checked his watch. It was 03.08.

  The elevator travelled three storeys down to the cargo hold. Mark took a right out of the elevator and strode through a pair of swing doors. The Drebbel, a sub identical to the Narcis and named after another great engineer linked to the invention of the submarine, Cornelius Drebbel, stood in the docking area. Mark punched in a code on a flat pad close to the door of the sub and a steel panel opened.

  The sub was primed, all systems online. It was ready to do Mark’s bidding. He dropped into the pilot’s seat and ran his hands over the smooth plastic surface. Applying pressure to key points on the panel, he activated the controls. Perched on a short monorail, the sub slipped through a set of doors into the dock. The doors closed silently behind it.

  ‘Pressure equalisation complete,’ the computer announced after a few moments. A hatch on the outer skin of the Big Mac opened and the submarine was poised ready to go.

  A light came on in the centre of Mark’s display and the comms sprang to life. ‘This is the Fijian naval vessel, Lambasa. Stand down. Repeat. Stand down. We are about to board your vessel.’

>   Mark was stunned for a second, then he stabbed at the comms control. ‘The hell you will,’ he snapped. Then to the computer: ‘Emergency shut down. Security code: 646348gryh#.’

  ‘Code accepted. Shut down activated,’ the onboard computer replied immediately.

  ‘To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?’ Mark said.

  There was a pause. Then a new voice came over the line. ‘Mr Harrison, yes?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘I am Acting Admiral Ratu Naivalurua.’

  ‘I spoke earlier to Admiral Sir Joni Madraiwiwi.’

  ‘Yes, the honourable admiral is ... indisposed. I am in command of the naval task force assigned to the Neptune Hotel.’

  ‘I see. So, why are you hindering our rescue operation?’

  ‘That will become clear later, Mr Harrison. But right now I’m afraid we have to board your vessel.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Mr Harrison, I...’

  ‘Look ... I’m here to save lives. I don’t have time to argue.’

  Another pause. Longer. ‘My officers are on their way.’

  ‘Okay, Acting Admiral Naivalurua. You will not be able to board my vehicle. That is completely out of the question,’ Mark said coolly. ‘However, E-Force are bound by law to cooperate with local authorities. You’re doubtless aware that if I don’t have the full support of my hosts, I can’t act unilaterally. I can only appeal to you on humanitarian grounds. There are many people down there who need help. We’re the only ones able to rescue them. Why are you hindering our mission?’

  The Fijian commander liked pauses, but eventually the comms came to life. ‘My officers are close to your vehicle. Please surrender and you will be treated with the utmost respect.’

  Now it was Mark’s turn to pause. He felt like saying, ‘Do your worst, Acting Admiral.’ He knew the officers of the Fijian navy could not get into the Big Mac if they had a thousand years to try it, but he also knew the rules E-Force operated under. He had written those rules.

  ‘Exactly what is it you want, Acting Admiral?’

  ‘We are impounding your vessel and taking you into custody.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Trespassing into Fijian waters.’

  ‘But we had clearance.’

  ‘That was granted by the former government.’

  ‘I see,’ Mark said slowly, realising what had happened. ‘Okay. I can see we’re going to have to strike a deal here.’

  ‘No deals.’

  Mark cut the comms, folded his arms and sat back. He was burning up with anger. People might be dying down there and this buffoon was interfering. He steadied his breathing and waited. The minutes passed and Mark’s anger grew exponentially, but he was a disciplined ex-military officer. He knew what he was doing.

  The comms sounded. Mark ignored it. It kept going. After a dozen rings, Mark tapped the control panel.

  ‘Mr Harrison.’ The Fijian commander’s voice spilled into the control room.

  ‘Acting Admiral.’

  ‘It seems we have reached an impasse.’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘You want to get down there, yes? Well, that will not be happening.’ There was real menace in the man’s voice.

  Mark remained silent.

  ‘There will be no deals,’ Naivalurua said. ‘But these are my ... instructions.’

  Mark said nothing.

  ‘You want to rescue the unfortunates trapped in the hotel. We are not convinced your intentions are pure. After all, these are ... trying times, are they not? We wish to check your credentials. Will you allow us aboard?’

  Mark knew he had little room to manoeuvre. He could not simply launch the Drebbel. That would be breaking the rules binding E-Force to international law. Nor could he just sit tight and wait. That would do nothing to help the people trapped in the Neptune. He leaned into the comms, running a hand over his temple and breathing steadily. ‘Withdraw your boat to the Lambasa,’ he said. ‘I’ll come to you.’

  57

  Pacific Ocean

  The Lambasa effectively was the Fijian navy, and they were very proud of it. A 52-year-old minesweeper which had been modified with a single Soviet 4.37 millimetre gun taken from a Russian sweeper type T-44, it was a preloved vessel from the French navy that had been sold on to the Argentineans in the late 1970s. After they had thrashed the thing, including taking a hammering from British Harriers in the Falklands War, the junta passed it on down the line to the Fijians.

  Mark sent an encoded message to Tom at Base One and pulled away from the Big Mac on a jet ski. He had left everything of value behind and exchanged his cybersuit for a blue jumpsuit and flak jacket. Apart from a conventional radio, he had no comms, and he was completely unarmed. Dead ahead bobbed the launch the Acting Admiral had mentioned. As agreed, it was holding steady at a point 100 metres from his aircraft. Two men dressed in black military fatigues and brandishing AK47s stood aft. A third man was at the wheel. Mark followed the launch back to the grey minesweeper. As he drew close, he could see streaks of rust along the hull and a broken window on the bridge. It was a sorry excuse for a military vessel. As the launch pulled alongside the Lambasa, a stairway was lowered into the water and the black-clad figures climbed up to the deck. Mark tethered the jet ski to the stairs and flicked on the defence shield, a tamper-proof system that produced an electric shock if anyone decided to get too close to the machine. Reaching the top of the steps, he pulled himself up onto the deck.

  The Acting Admiral was a short, rotund man in a white uniform. An impressive array of medals hung across his left breast. His head was the shape and size of a ripe watermelon. Perched on his hairless pate was a stiff white cap smothered in gold braid. He had small, black, darting eyes and a flat nose. More figures in black stood either side of him, their machine guns at waist height.

  They all stared at Mark intently. Even without his E-Force uniform, he looked an imposing figure. A head taller than any of the crew, he was powerfully built and carried himself with a poise that came from a blend of many years of military training and an innate self-confidence. He took half a dozen paces towards the Acting Admiral. ‘Mark Harrison, E-Force,’ he said.

  Ratu Naivalurua stared at him and walked forward, stopping so close, Mark could feel the man’s breath on him. And before Mark could react, the Acting Admiral’s fist flew into the E-Force leader’s solar plexus. Mark collapsed in a heap, clutching his abdomen. Naivalurua clicked his fingers and the two armed sailors ran forward. Mark shot a hand out to grab the ankle of the Fijian commander. He felt an intense stab of pain as the butt of a machine gun crashed down on his head and he tumbled into blackness.

  58

  Dome Gamma

  The service stairs at the back of the casino were almost unscathed, but filled with acrid smoke. Something was burning a flight or two up from where they were and it didn’t smell good. They closed the door to the casino behind them to provide another level of protection against the approaching fire, and Sigmund led the way, the others close behind. Michael Xavier followed two steps back.

  A mean light came from a few surviving florescent strips and it was hard to make out one step from the other. ‘Keep going,’ Michael called from the back and watched the shapes ahead shuffling down the stairs. ‘There should be four flights down to Lower Ground.’

  A scream rang out. Emily. Her legs went from under her. Michael dashed forward, but was too slow. She hit the concrete with a thud. Hilary was there just before him. The kid burst into tears. Hilary pulled her close, almost going down herself as her feet slid on a patch of oil.

  ‘Up we come,’ Michael said, taking Emily’s hand and giving her an encouraging smile. She clambered to her feet, rubbing the back of her head. Michael lifted her chin. ‘Gotta be brave. You can be brave? Can’t you, Em?’

  The girl wiped the tears from her eyes and managed a brief smile. Michael was suddenly filled with a terrible sense of guilt. It was his fault they were all
in this horrible situation, a voice screamed in his head. He felt a welling panic and forced it away. Yes, this might have been his fault, he reasoned, but if he crumbled now it would make everything 10 times worse. It was his responsibility to get his family out of this place, even if he died trying. He gripped Emily about the shoulder and caught Hilary staring at him. Her expression was almost serene. Michael couldn’t remember the last time she had looked that way. It lasted only a moment and was quickly smothered with anxiety and pain. She grabbed Emily’s arm and pulled her on, down the stairs.

  Sigmund reached lower ground level first and almost fell over a shape on the floor. The others piled down behind him. He raised a hand and they stopped. Crouching down, he saw a body. It was a man dressed in a security guard’s uniform. He was lying on his side. He smelt of burned flesh and incinerated hair. Sigmund covered his mouth and pulled the man over onto his back. His jacket was shredded and streaked with carbon. His face was a black husk, unrecognisable as human.

  Emily and Hilary turned away. Michael and Miguel stepped forward. A red light was flashing at the dead man’s waist. Miguel lifted the bottom of the security guard’s jacket. They could see a radio hooked to his belt. Beside that, a plastic ID. It had melted around the edge, but they could just make out the name: Epeli Uluivuda.

  ‘I knew him,’ Miguel said. ‘Wife and kids in Suva.’

  A loud buzz came from the radio. At first, they were so startled, none of them could understand where the sound was coming from. Then Michael bent down on one knee, carefully plucked the radio from Uluivuda’s belt and stared at it as though it were an alien thing. Then he put it to his ear, and depressed a button on the side. ‘Hello,’ he said, feeling slightly ridiculous.

  A crackle. Then a voice. ‘Hello. This is Base One, Tintara. Over.’

  59

  Dome Gamma

  ‘What’s your status?’

  ‘Base One? What’s Base One? Are you on Fiji?’ Michael asked.

  ‘No, sir. My name’s Tom Erickson. I’m a member of E-Force ... the rescue organisation?’