The Extinction Code

by Dean Crawford

  Ethan nodded, and looked at the lieutenant of the SEAL team.

  ‘Make for the bridge,’ he said. ‘Turn the ship away from the coast as a priority.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ the officer replied. No questions. No concerns.

  The Black Hawk turned as it swept along just above the surface of the ocean, and Ethan could see in the distance the exotic beaches of Cancun and San Miguel, strips of dark green and white sand against the blue expanses of ocean and sky. The interior of the helicopter was hot and smelled of grease and aviation fuel, the whole fuselage rattling as the pilots drove the helicopter at its maximum velocity over the ocean in an attempt to catch the private yacht before she reached the safety of the harbor a few miles away.

  ‘We’ve got a visual,’ came the voice of the pilot through the earphones, and Ethan leaned forward in his seat to look into the cockpit between the two pilots.

  Beyond the myriad controls and screens, the broad windshield revealed the vast panorama of the Gulf of Mexico beneath scattered cumulus clouds trailing shadows that drifted across the clear blue waters. Dead ahead, a tiny white speck was dwarfed by the immense ocean.

  ‘That’s her,’ Ethan said as he spotted the shape of the yacht fleeing them.

  ‘We’re sixty seconds out,’ the pilot informed him. ‘They’re about two minutes from Mexican waters.’

  ‘Don’t try to cut them off or block their course,’ Ethan said. ‘That yacht’s big enough and they’ll be ordered to ram you regardless of any risk. Just get overhead her and try to stay stable enough to get the SEALs aboard. We’ll do the rest.’

  The pilot nodded, his focus on the ship before them as Ethan turned back to the SEAL team.

  ‘They’ll try to evade us, prevent you from getting aboard. This could get a little rough.’

  The SEALS regarded him in silence for a moment, and then as one they cocked their M–16 rifles in response. Ethan nodded and glanced at Lopez.

  ‘You ready?’

  ‘I’ll cope,’ she replied. ‘I feel better knowing that you’re not flying us in this time.’

  Ethan rolled his eyes as he prepared for the exit. The SEALs were briefed to go first, followed by Ethan and Lopez if the pilots deemed it safe to do so. Ethan knew that there was little chance of that, so he had decided that he’d drop onto the line the first chance he got. Both he and Lopez had performed this action many times before, but never against the clock.

  ‘Thirty seconds, hatches open!’

  The loadmaster hauled open the two side doors flanking the fuselage as the SEALs got out of their seats and hung on grimly, the rappel lines coiled on the deck at their boots. Ethan held onto his seat with one hand, the other gripping his buckle, ready to release it as soon as he could.

  ‘They’re evading!’

  The Black Hawk tilted over sharply as the fleeing yacht turned beneath them, hoping to throw off the pursuing helicopter for long enough to reach safety. Ethan leaned around and glimpsed the giant vessel’s shining white decks and crashing foam around her stern as she twisted on the ocean, the Black Hawk’s pilot following her carefully and descending toward the large helipad on her stern.

  Ethan knew that the pilot couldn’t attempt to drop them anywhere else, even though the ship was so large. Her erratic manoeuvring was enough to make landing anywhere else on the deck hazardous in the extreme, but at least Ethan knew that the captain of the ship would be forced to keep heading toward the coast and therefore couldn’t deviate too far from…

  ‘Incoming!’

  Ethan heard the pilot’s panicked yell as the Black Hawk jerked upward and her engines and rotor blades thundered as Ethan heard a strange tinkling sound, like metal cooling. The SEALs ducked back from the open hatches as a couple of stray rounds clattered against the Black Hawk’s fuselage in a spray of sparks.

  ‘Get us down!’ the SEAL officer yelled. ‘Ten seconds!’

  The pilot responded, and in a remarkable display of flying skill he turned the Black Hawk side on to the fleeing yacht, maintaining his flying speed and bringing the rifles of the SEAL team to bear on the gunmen flooding the landing pad on the yacht’s stern. Ethan watched as the SEALs opened fire, the Black Hawk descending and rocking on the wind as the soldiers directed a deafening crescendo of withering fire onto the yacht.

  Ethan saw two or three gunmen go down as the others fled out of sight, and then the SEAL officer jumped into oblivion, one hand on the rope, the other holding his rifle. The other SEALs plunged out of the helicopter in pursuit, eight men gone in a matter of seconds. Ethan twisted his seat buckle free and launched himself after them, heard the gunfire and the clattering of the rotors above as he clipped his belt harness to the rappel line and leaped out into mid–air even as the loadmaster yelled at him to stay where he was.

  The rappel line gyrated wildly in the wind as Ethan plummeted toward the deck, the SEALs fanning out, their rifles firing in a broad semi–circle facing toward the ship’s bow. Bullets clanged off the yacht’s bodywork as more bullets flew back at them, zipping past Ethan as he slid down the line and then opened the clasp on his belt. He dropped away from the line and landed hard on the deck, rolling forward and bringing his pistol up as he aimed at the nearest gunman hiding on a walkway that lined the bridge and fired.

  His shot missed, but the gunman ducked his head and scurried away. The SEALs advanced by sections, sweeping forward as Ethan moved to follow them. Behind him, the Black Hawk’s rotors hammered the air and it rose up and away from the yacht, trailing the rappel lines. Ethan checked for Lopez but could see nobody. The loadmaster had probably grabbed her and prevented her from following Ethan out.

  The clatter of rifle fire led Ethan forward through the ship. He entered the main cabin, its doors open to the stern, saw two dead gunmen sprawled across the ornate sofas as he made his way forward down a long, carpeted corridor toward the bow. He heard more gunfire, shouts of alarm from somewhere ahead of him, and moved more quickly. There was no time to search the ship, only to stop it and keep it in international waters.

  Ethan reached a doorway that led outside to a series of steps with polished chrome grab–rails that climbed up to the bridge deck. He hurried up them, and found another door that led into the bridge itself. He stepped in and came face to face with three rifles.

  ‘Warner, Ethan,’ he said.

  The rifles dropped as the SEALs now occupying the bridge recognized him and turned away. The officer in command was at the controls but he didn’t look happy.

  ‘The crew’s neutralized,’ he said, ‘but the controls are jammed wide open!’

  Ethan was about to say something when he felt something hard jam into his back. He turned and experienced an almost supernatural tingle of alarm as he looked into the eyes of a man he had seen lying dead in the stern of the ship only minutes before. Behind him were a half dozen more men, likewise smeared in blood but pointing weapons at him.

  Ethan cursed beneath his breath as he backed into the bridge and the gunmen pushed their way in, the SEALs responding instantly but not firing as the yacht’s crew moved inside and one of them, a stocky, foreign looking man smiled grimly.

  ‘No sense in shooting us,’ he said as he glanced at a GPS screen. ‘We’ll be in Mexican waters within a minute and you’ll all be free to leave.’

  Ethan noted the bullet proof vests on the crewmen, and although two members of the yacht’s team must have taken hits to the head when the SEALs double–tapped them, the rest were back on their feet, the blood likely fake.

  ‘Shut the engines down,’ the SEAL leader ordered, glaring at the crewman down the barrel of his rifle. ‘My men could drop you all before you got a single shot off.’

  ‘If that were true, you would have fired by now,’ the crewman replied. ‘You have no jurisdiction here, and the yacht’s controls will not return to us until we’re safely inside Mexican waters. Leave, now, or I’ll take my chances and put a bullet in this asshole’s guts just for the hell of it!’

  Ethan f
elt the pistol jammed harder under his ribs and saw the SEAL team’s expression alter, become cold and calculating. Ethan knew that he was weighing up the odds, and he likewise knew that no Special Forces soldier would risk failing the mission for collateral damage.

  ‘Take the shot,’ Ethan snapped, and flinched as he started to turn to try to disarm the crewman before he could send a bullet plowing through Ethan’s body.

  But before anybody could move the yacht suddenly began to slow. Ethan froze as he heard the distant hum of the engines fade away into silence, the crash and whisper of waves flushing past the gleaming hull break up. He glanced at the yacht’s controls and saw the engine dials wind down to zero, the border of Mexican waters still a few hundred yards away.

  The SEAL commander raised an eyebrow at their captor.

  ‘You were saying?’

  Ethan heard the Black Hawk helicopter thunder back in toward them, its rotors hammering the air.

  ‘Reinforcements,’ Ethan lied as he looked over his shoulder. ‘You guys fancy a crack at two Navy SEAL teams?’

  The leader of the crewmen scowled as he saw his men throw down their weapons and put their hands in the air. A SEAL pushed past Ethan and grabbed the pistol from his captor’s hands before driving his forehead into the man’s nose with a dull crack that sent him plunging onto the deck.

  The SEALs quickly locked down the ship’s crew, as Ethan looked at the lieutenant. ‘What happened?’

  The lieutenant shrugged, but another voice answered. ‘A woman happened.’

  They both turned to see Lopez appear and lean in the bridge doorway, her hands shoved casually into her pockets as she smiled at them. ‘While you cowboys were blowing brains out up here, I used mine and went down below to shut off the fuel valves.’ She tapped her temple with one finger.

  Ethan heard the helicopter settle on the stern as his earpiece crackled.

  ‘Ethan, it’s Jarvis. What’s going on down there?’

  ‘The yacht’s ours, but Garrett must already be ashore as there was no helicopter on the landing pad when we caught up with it. I don’t think Garrett’s aboard.’

  ‘Have the ship searched,’ Jarvis advised. ‘Maybe it’ll turn something up. You both get down to Varginha and speak to Martinez, find out what you can about that island. Hellerman will be in touch soon.’

  ‘What about you?’ Ethan asked, and suddenly frowned as he realized that Jarvis was outside, the sound of passing traffic clear on the line. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Goodbye, Ethan.’

  Before Ethan could say anything more, the line went dead.

  *

  Washington DC

  Jarvis climbed into a hire car three minutes after calling Ethan, having tossed the cell phone into a trash can on Sumner Road. His own car had been GPS tagged, a basic precaution that he felt sure General Nellis would have undertaken the moment Felix Byzan had died. Jarvis had quickly taken care of that before walking into a convenience store and purchasing a change of clothes.

  He drove out of the car hire lot having paid cash and then used a fresh burner cell to call Lucy Morgan. When she answered, he gave her no time to ask questions.

  ‘Tortola,’ he said. ‘Get there and wait for me. It’s very important, Lucy. Just trust me and do it, I’ll explain everything when I get there.’

  Jarvis rang off and then dialled another number, this time only getting an answer on the fifth ring, his heart being faster with every passing second.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s done,’ he said. ‘Can you finish what we’ve started?’

  ‘I can,’ came the reply. ‘Are they on their way?’

  ‘We’ve tracked Majestic Twelve as far as Sao Paulo,’ Jarvis confirmed, ‘but I’m out of the loop now and headed south. We have agents following them, try to ensure they don’t get caught up in all of this. It’s all down to you now.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ came the reply. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this.’

  ***

  XXXIII

  Varginha, Brazil

  ‘Now this is more like it!’

  Lopez climbed out of the ramshackle taxi and opened her arms to absorb the sweltering sunshine blazing down from a flawless blue sky as Ethan paid the driver, whom they had hired in a nearby village to avoid being tracked in their hire car from Sau Paulo into the town. He watched the cab trundle away with a cough and splutter of oily brown smoke from its exhaust, then turned and found himself looking at a towering silver cylinder that was topped with a gigantic silver disc that looked alarmingly like the classic UFO “saucer”.

  ‘You’re kidding me?’ he uttered as he moved to stand beside Lopez.

  ‘They’re proud of their UFO heritage,’ Lopez said as she slipped a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and pushed her hair back into a ponytail. ‘It’s not every day that a small Brazilian coffee town finds itself becoming international news. I think that this monument is actually a water tower.’

  Ethan looked around for any sign of Jarvis’s contact in Brazil, a man named Rodrigo Martinez, but none seemed to emerge from the listless pedestrians shuffling along the baking sidewalks.

  ‘You think he’s running late?’ Ethan asked.

  Lopez turned a pitying smile on him. ‘Honey, in South America everybody’s running late and nobody cares. C’mon, let’s go take a look around, y’know, catch some rays?’

  Ethan felt irritation rise up inside him, but then he saw Lopez’s infectious smile as she slipped her arm through his and urged him to walk with her.

  ‘You could do with the rest,’ she advised as they strolled toward a small market. ‘All this stress, being shot at and all, it’s no good for your heart and soul.’

  ‘Are you my doctor now?’

  ‘I think so,’ Lopez opined. ‘Your treatment should begin with a leisurely examination of this market, followed by a soothing lunch that you can buy me.’

  Despite himself, Ethan laughed. ‘How kind of you.’

  ‘It’s all for your benefit,’ she assured him as she patted his chest with one hand. ‘You’ll be thanking me later.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ Ethan replied.

  They were walking through the market place when a man in casual clothes, his features partially concealed by a hat, approached them and moved to walk alongside Ethan.

  ‘I am glad you could make it here,’ he said in a heavy South American accent.

  ‘Rodrigo Martinez?’ Lopez asked as she peered around Ethan to look at the man and saw the white collar of the priesthood about his neck.

  He looked older than in the photographs that Ethan had seen from the original incident, his black moustache now white, his hair gray at the temples, but his eyes were unmistakably the same.

  ‘I must remain incognito if possible,’ Martinez said as they walked, purposefully keeping his head down. ‘There is a coffee shop, a hundred yards ahead on the right that has a secluded garden at the rear where we can talk. I will go there, please join me in a few minutes.’

  Martinez moved off, while Ethan and Nicola perused the wares of a trinket stall in the market place.

  ‘It’s been decades since the incident,’ Lopez said as they waited. ‘Surely he doesn’t fear for his life after all this time?’

  ‘We’ve seen this before,’ Ethan pointed out. ‘People are scared out of their wits when a close encounter occurs, and sometimes it’s not by the extraterrestrials they claim to have seen but by the government soldiers who visit them afterward. This kind of intimidation goes on in every country on earth.’

  ‘But for this long?’ Lopez repeated. ‘You know what I think that means?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ethan nodded, ‘that whatever started back then is still going on. Come on, let’s see what he has to say about it.’

  They walked together down through the market until they reached a tiny coffee shop, one where they had to descend two steps and duck into the entrance, the building probably as old as the hills that surrounded it. The interior was dark bu
t cool and filled with the aroma of fresh coffee as Ethan followed Lopez between the empty tables that filled the shop and beyond, through a set of open double doors that led into a small, shaded courtyard with more tables.

  Martinez awaited them, a small cup of coffee before him on the table and two more waiting, the table shielded from the sunshine and prying eyes by an open umbrella that was larger than the table itself. Ethan sat down opposite Martinez with Lopez alongside him.

  ‘So, what can you tell us?’ Ethan asked.

  ‘First, I want you to tell me something,’ Martinez said. ‘You have come a long way to seek me out and to ask me questions about something that happened here twenty years ago and which people are afraid to talk about even now. I need to know why: why are you here, now? What’s happened?’

  Ethan sensed that behind Martinez’s paranoia and fear there was a shrewd mind, and decided to simply tell him everything that he wanted to know in the hopes that he would reciprocate.

  ‘There have been some reports of small, unusual bipedal creatures in the forests around this area and further south along the Atlantic Coast,’ he said. ‘We’ve been sent here to check them out, especially around the island of Ilhabela.’

  ‘From America,’ Martinez said, making it sound like an accusation. ‘Forgive me, but I fail to understand what interest your great country would have in a little town like Varginha.’

  ‘I think we all know what interests us about this town,’ Lopez replied. ‘You have a big water tower advertising what happened here.’

  Martinez scowled.

  ‘An abomination,’ he said, ‘the commercialization of something so important that it has turned it into a circus, something to be laughed at over coffee, as though it never even really happened. Do you know that the media says the entire thing was invented by the mayor at the time, to bring tourists into the town? They say he copied what happened at Roswell, as if the two were even remotely similar.’