by Nick Thacker
Then he realized something. They’ve targeted me and possibly Larson as well. And they’ve done it by planting explosives in my house.
On each floor of my house.
Only two of the bombs had gone off. His eyes widened as a new fury overcame him. He rushed toward the back door, but it was too late.
The bomb planted in his basement detonated at the moment he reached the back door. He was in mid-kick, trying to break down the door and escape, when the floor gave out beneath him.
He fell, right into an overwhelming burst of flames. The hole opened in his basement ceiling directly below him, and he dropped through, landing on the floor of the room he was just in.
He could see the chest he’d opened not five feet away, standing against the wall. He looked up at the open hole above him as excruciating pain roared through his lower body. Something had landed across his legs, but he couldn’t even summon the strength to lift his head to see what it was. He closed his eyes, waiting for end.
Thankfully, it came within thirty seconds.
The roof two floors above him collapsed, bringing structural beams, attic boxes, and everything situated at the back of their house crashing down on him.
He prayed silently, but knew there was nothing God—or anyone else—could do.
The orange of the flames filled the space behind his eyelids, and soon it was blackness.
Chapter 46
“WE NEEDED MARK TO HELP with the project, and we needed a scapegoat; someone to pull the trigger on all of this. Mark, would you mind explaining to your family what it is you do, exactly, at your company?”
Mark just shrugged. “You know, already. Computers, mainframe stuff.”
“Mark,” Austin said, clearly agitated.
Mark continued. “I’m a hacker. A good one. You know I run a team of computer specialists, but together we’ve been trained to design, build, implement, and infiltrate computer security systems.”
Jen nodded. She knew this already.
“But my work isn’t always possible to do remotely. They train us to get up close, to get in where the systems are actually being used. They make sure I’m—we’re—able to be as efficient as possible in achieving our main objective, regardless of who’s in the way.
“I can fight, shoot, or maneuver my way out of just about anything, Jen. It’s not something I’m exactly proud of, but I want you to know I’ve been forced to hide all of this.”
Austin jumped in. “Mr. Adams has been very efficient, actually. The small team that reports to him singlehandedly built our security control system for the very machine we’re standing on top of, and everything he accomplished for us will be recognized as his own work. He alone, therefore, has acted as the sole perpetrator in what we’re about to release. You’re standing on ground zero, and I’m excited to get this show going.
“Now, let’s cut to the chase. Mark, say goodbye to your family, and let’s get ready to start the final phase of the project.”
Mark eyed Austin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Austin. I had nothing to do with this.”
“Oh? You built the security—”
“I built what I was told to build, and you and I both know that it is completely harmless!”
“…And when you finished the security control system, your company continued to do their research on mine. They discovered secrets that they shouldn’t have been privy to. Secrets we’ve worked hard to cover. Environmental disasters like the BP oil spill and Three Mile Island. We were even involved in Chernobyl.
“But your company couldn’t keep their nose out of it, so we had to take the situation into our own hands. We needed you, someone with a deep knowledge of the program, to come here and activate it. When word gets out that you were involved, your superiors won’t be able to talk about it, because they’ll be instigators as well.”
Mark was appalled. “Austin, you’re mad. I didn’t do anything here. Sure, I broke into your office, but I didn’t do anything there except try to figure out what’s going on. And I’m sure as hell not starting some program while I’m here.”
“Yes, well, you’re half correct. You have already achieved the first of two final steps. By logging into my computer as an administrator and attempting a connection via the encrypted data line, you successfully hacked into a security system that you, or your company, built. We couldn’t manually start the drilling process until you gave us this head start. Before, we had to wait for the station to complete its final turns on its own schedule. Thanks to you, we do not. It’s all for naught, however, since we’re basically just waiting for the final rotations anyway.
Jen thought back to the wild shaking of the gigantic machine in the lower levels. The drill.
“There are two rotations left; the next should be upon us any minute now. When the final rotation is complete, we will have, for the first time, drilled down far enough into the Earth’s crust to cause a major rift. A schism, if you will. One that will tap into the mantle and release much of the pressure being held at the bottom of this trench.”
Erik’s eyes widened as he realized the implications. “It will cause a major tectonic shift,” he said, his voice shaky. “That is a cataclysmic size for a rift, even if it is contained within the geographical area.”
“It will cause multiple tectonic shifts,” Austin replied. “And large ones, at that. We’re standing on a veritable hotbed of geological activity. This type of event will spread in exponential waves around the globe, consuming the sturdy bedrock and decimating the weak areas. It’s beautiful, really—one small spot to dig, and then…”
Erik whispered. “It’s a planetary reaction.”
Austin just stared past them. A soldier ran to Austin and whispered something in his ear.
“It appears as though our final support team has arrived,” he said quietly. “Sylvia, would you mind helping our new guests find their way?”
The blond woman left, a small cadre of soldiers following closely behind.
Chapter 47
THIS WASN’T AN ACCIDENT.
AS Detective Larson pulled up to the curb next to the smoldering lot where his friend’s house previously stood, the thought nagged at the back of his mind. As a career detective, he was trained to push these sorts of ideas back until the hard evidence presented itself.
But he’d also learned in his long career to trust his gut.
And now his gut was screaming at him.
This was no accident.
Ken Dawson was dead, and it was being reported currently as an accidental house fire. He knew that was certainly a possibility, but he’d long stopped taking coincidences at face value. More often than not there was something going on below the surface, and he was good—very good—at figuring out what it was.
Most of the time, Detective Larson would start with a motive. Who wanted Dawson dead, and why? Why not focus on Larson himself? Dawson was a good detective, but he was less careful and methodical than Larson would have liked. Maybe he sniffed around too much, and somebody noticed.
These thoughts pushed through the wall in his mind as he walked up the sidewalk to the smoke-blackened foundation of the house. He stopped before stepping onto the concrete porch; both to take a mental picture of the scene and for sentimental reasons. He’d been here many times before, even sharing Thanksgiving with their family.
He sighed.
He felt the nagging sensation again and realized that this was somehow different. Before, when he’d get this feeling, it was out of compassion for humanity. Now, however, there was something more.
He wanted this to be more than an accident. He wanted someone to be responsible for it because then he could blame someone. Someone could be at fault for it, and he could forever know that simple fate wasn’t the cause of his friend’s death.
So he stepped over the threshold and entered the smoking remains of the house. The local police had gotten him clearance onto the scene, and as long as he didn’t interfere with any evidence, h
e could take a look around. He greeted some of the investigators on the scene, nodding once as he passed.
There were a few officers and medical personnel around one area of the basement, so he wandered toward the ladder that had been lowered from the main floor. Descending, he noticed that the basement floor was covered by the fallen remains of the rest of the house. The ladder’s base was set on some boards that were only about four feet below the main level. Another row of boards stretched from base of the ladder and curved to the left, following a short hallway. The boards were fresh lumber, so Larson assumed the gathered officials had laid out some sort of walkway or platform over the rest of the debris.
“Is there a body?”
Larson’s ears turned toward the sound of the voice. Without looking, he listened to the exchange.
“Yes, the coroner has it now,” a second voice responded.
Larson stole a glance and noticed a young police officer had answered the question. Both men stood near a wall in the basement, apart from the other group that had gathered farther down the small hallway. The man who’d asked the question was tall, lanky, and in his mid-forties. He wore a police uniform, complete with a bulletproof vest over the blue top. The pants, traditional officer attire, were starched and freshly pressed, and ended just above black leather oxfords. They were buffed and polished, and gave off a slight gleam from the overhead lights that had been staged in the basement.
“Ok, I’ll need the name of the office, please,” the first officer said. He reached to the younger man and patted his shoulder. “Thanks.” The man turned and began walking toward the rest of the group, his heels clicking on the wooden platform.
Detective Larson listened as he continued to stare at the shoes. He had a pair that looked just like it, although they were hadn’t been worn in years.
Why the nice shoes, officer?
The shoes were part of what Larson deemed “environmental juxtaposition,” a term he had developed at a training conference he’d spoken for years ago. They were out of place, but in an odd way. While he assumed it must be possible for an officer to put on the wrong shoes in the morning, he doubted they’d put on their nicest pair of shoes, waxed and polished, that were meant to be worn with a suit.
Then there was the odd line of questioning. Surely the police would understand protocol and know that a body, even one as mangled and charred as a burn victim, would have been the first thing removed from the scene. Larson continued scrutinizing the man, piecing things together.
This man wasn’t a police officer.
So who are you, then? he wondered.
He needed to stay below the radar on this one. If there was, in fact, something more going on than a fatal house fire, and his partner had been a target, there was good reason to believe that he himself was one as well.
Whoever wanted Dawson dead had succeeded, and if it was because of his involvement with the Agartha case, he might be next in line. His connections in Washington aside, this case was turning out to be larger than he’d imagined.
The man with the fancy shoes turned and caught Larson’s eyes. The man frowned, then quickly recovered and nodded once. Larson had caught the man by surprise, and he could tell that he’d been recognized.
So there it is, Larson thought. Government. You and I both know what we were working on, and how close we must be to figuring it out.
He turned and made for the ladder. Without bothering to look back to see if was being followed, he left the house and walked toward his car. Reaching for his keys, he suddenly changed his mind and pulled out his phone instead.
Larson dialed a number and waited.
“Yes, thank you. I need a taxi.” He waited. “As soon as possible.” He gave the address of a neighboring intersection, then hung up and started walking.
Chapter 48
“I’M ALL EARS, GREGORY.”
“I can’t explain the situation. You already know that. I’ve held information from you only because I wasn’t sure who was in on it.”
“You thought I might be?” Larson asked.
“Come on, Craig. You would have done the same thing.” The voice on the other end of the phone paused for a moment. “So you’re in it now. Sorry to hear about Dawson.”
“Me too. Thanks,” Larson said. “What can you tell me?”
“Nothing you haven’t probably already figured out by what’s happened. We think there’s a small cell operating within your government that’s working with Nouvelle Terre.”
“Within the government?” Larson asked incredulously. “I knew this reached pretty high, but I never thought—”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re out of time, Craig.”
Larson considered what his friend had said. The British had been tracking Nouvelle Terre for a few years, trying to keep a finger on the pulse within the small and fractured scientific community they were a part of. Without showing their cards, they’d maneuvered well enough through the political mess to get a small unit of soldiers into the United States, then down into the station.
Malcolm Vertrund, Durand’s boss, thought the organization might be operating out of the research station that had previously been a United States-funded program. When the US government eventually sold it to the British, it had been in disrepair and left unused for over ten years.
“What can we do? There’s no way I’m calling up to the Pentagon.”
“No—no, that’s not going to work.”
“Can you get Vertrund to pull some strings?” Larson asked.
“Probably. What are you thinking?”
“Is there a standing vessel anywhere nearby? If you can get close enough, they might be able to stop anything that goes awry.”
“We’ve already got a team of Royal Marines down there, as you know, but the sub they embarked on was lost. It was destroyed when they landed. We lost communications with the team, since the sub was going to act as a relay station. Hell, we don’t even know if the team’s still alive.”
“So whatever blew up that sub is still floating around out there?”
“Neither government is acknowledging the attack, obviously, which means it was one of them. Again, probably the US. If it was foreign it would have been an act of war, and we’d be having a different conversation now. But yeah, I think whatever it was that attacked our sub is patrolling nearby. Whoever’s in that station does not want company.”
“We have to take the chance, Durand.”
“Craig, you’re talking about redirecting a British naval ship. There’s no way—”
“Vertrund can do it. You and I both know that.”
“To do what, though?” Durand said. “Anything we send out there is going to be intercepted by that other vessel, and then what? We just keep sending ships out there to sink?”
“Listen. You got me in this mess, Gregory, and you wouldn’t have if you didn’t think it stunk like an inside job. Nouvelle Terre can’t be trusted, and we know there’s something bigger going on with at least one of our administrations.”
Neither man spoke for a moment.
“Get me a ship, Durand. Get me something that won’t go quietly, if you know what I mean.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll be on the boat.”
Chapter 49
THE BLOND WOMAN LEFT THE group behind and climbed the set of stairs leading to the catwalk. She disappeared behind the wall when Jen and the others heard soft pop, and then a hissing sound.
“The docking station,” Saunders said under her breath. “Someone actually is here.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath on their being friendly,” Nelson responded.
They waited for another minute, both sides frozen in anticipation. The only member of the group who seemed unfazed—uninterested even—was Jeremiah Austin, who’d resorted to chewing on a section of his fingernail.
After a long moment, more pops rang out from somewhere in the distance.
“Is that—”
“Gu
nshots,” Mark said, before Jen could finish.
The sounds continued, growing louder and more intense, then finally dying away to short bursts every few seconds.
After the gunshots stopped, the blond woman, Sylvia, appeared again on the stairway, followed by the Russians, and finally a tall, slender man in a blue sport coat.
They walked back toward the group at the center of the level, and Jen gasped as she recognized the man.
“That’s… that’s—”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Austin said, enjoying the grandeur of the moment, “may I proudly present to you the President of the United States of America.”
Mark’s eyes widened, but he was otherwise unsure of how to react. He stayed motionless, awestruck.
Sylvia slid up to Austin’s side like a snake, then spoke. “The president has successfully disembarked, and we’ve permanently disabled the second docking station. But there was another sub—probably an escort—that is still nearby.”
Austin took in this new information, thought for a moment, then continued, the knowledge apparently not meriting a change of plans.
“The president and I are old acquaintances, you could say. And when I discovered our shared interests, we began working toward a goal that ultimately has brought us here today. The plan started as I’d mentioned before, beginning with the destruction of modern society, governments, and most of humanity. Bold, yes, but effective as well.
“You see, it’s only through careful engineering of urban areas that we can truly live in a world that’s mutually beneficial with our natural counterparts. Finally, we’ll experience a world that’s not destroying itself, but one that’s improving itself.”
“Because you’re destroying it here, Austin. Everything. Everything will be gone. You understand that, right?” Mark said.
Meanwhile, the president just looked on, as if he hadn’t heard anything that had been said.
“Trust me. I—we—fully understand the implications, Adams. But you must admit that society has taken a dreadful turn for the worse. We’ve experienced more human-caused famine, devastation, and plagues in the last century than in the last ten combined.