Ascension

by Oliver Harris

  “Got him,” one of them called.

  “Stay there.”

  Kane stopped.

  “Are you armed?”

  “No,” Kane said.

  “Who fired those shots?”

  “A man called Thomas Lindgren. He’s on his way to Georgetown with a girl who may be in danger. He needs to be stopped.”

  A woman drove up to the fuel station shouting: “What’s happening? Can someone please tell me what’s happening?”

  They told her to drive directly to the airfield. Civilians were taking shelter in a bunker beneath the adjacent base.

  “Why?” she said.

  “Proceed to the airfield. Follow instructions.”

  “Someone said they found them,” the woman said. “At the fire.”

  “Please proceed . . .”

  The woman sped off. Kane was searched. He heard their radios: It sounded like a lot of officers were up at Devil’s Ashpit.

  “What’s at Devil’s Ashpit?” he said.

  “Two bodies at the NASA station. Someone started a fire there. Know about it?”

  “No. But I suspect the man I told you about is involved. We need to get to Georgetown, fast,” Kane said.

  “You need to come with us.”

  Before Kane could reply there was the sound of a vehicle approaching quickly behind him. A jeep appeared, speeding from the direction of the US base. It screeched to a halt and Anne Lindgren jumped out, still uniformed, gripping her radio transceiver. She ran over to Kane.

  “Some security guys said you were with Thomas and Carina. Where are they?”

  “Thomas has Carina. They’ve gone to Georgetown.’

  “What about Connor?”

  “ ‘I don’t know about Connor.”

  “What’s Thomas doing at Georgetown?”

  “Maybe trying to get away. His boat’s there,” Kane said.

  She looked baffled, turned to the British officer.

  “Is anyone in Georgetown that you can contact?”

  “Georgetown’s been cleared,” one of the RAF officers said. “There’s no servicemen there. Everyone’s busy getting people into shelter or up at the fire at Devil’s Ashpit.”

  “Someone said they found bodies there,” Anne said.

  “Looks like Petra and Lauren.”

  Anne turned to Kane. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s go to Georgetown,” Kane said. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “He’s under arrest,” the airman said.

  “Not right now he isn’t,” Anne said. “Come with me.”

  Kane moved for Anne’s jeep. No one shot him, so he got in beside her.

  “Who are you?” she said, turning the ignition.

  “I work for the British government.”

  “People are saying my husband might have started the fire.”

  “He might have done. Let’s get Carina safe first, then we can try to understand this.”

  She pulled out fast, headed in the direction of Georgetown.

  “You don’t know where Connor is?”

  “No.”

  “You think Thomas is going to his boat? That’s impossible. The sea’s too rough.”

  “We can explain that to him. He’s armed, Anne. We’re going to have to think how we do this.”

  Then, very carefully, she said: “Does this have something to do with the Russian ship?”

  “Russian ship?”

  “There’s a ship coming—Russian signals intelligence, approximately twenty kilometers west of Ascension now.”

  “I reckon it might.”

  She looked straight ahead, taking the car to fifty, staring at the lava flows as if they might contain the explanation for her collapsing life.

  32

  The BND security team tailed Taylor as far as they could. For her protection, they said. After she crossed into Westminster, she didn’t see them again. She had a sense of walking a tightrope between two burning buildings.

  She drove past Charing Cross and Trafalgar Square, into government territory. It was a sunny day and Whitehall was crowded. Taylor ditched the car on Victoria Embankment with the doors open and the keys in the ignition, then circled back to the vast stone block of the Ministry of Defence headquarters: a pale, tomblike seven-acre sprawl of military bureaucracy. The main entrance was on Horse Guards Avenue, but she went to the one at the side. She’d hoped it might give her some privacy, but there was a group of tourists listening to a guide in Spanish. Taylor approached the MOD Police on the door, explained who she was, and why she needed urgent access. She watched as some communication went on inside their cabin. Then she was arrested at gunpoint.

  There was a gasp from the tourists. The guide fell silent. The police checked Taylor for weapons and walked her inside with a grip on her arm.

  The interior of the building was no less sepulchral, its oxblood marble suggesting cold butchery. Staff stopped as she was marched to the back of the ground floor, where she saw Skinner and Sir Roland Mackenzie advancing toward her.

  “Kathryn.”

  “I need to speak to you about what’s happening on Ascension,” she said.

  “You need to explain why both British and US special forces on the island are looking for a Dr. Edward Pearce,” Mackenzie said. “A man who escaped police custody last night and comes up on our records as your responsibility.”

  “You’ve lost us the island,” Skinner said, before she could reply. “In due course, we’re going to ascertain what your game has been, but we have a potential war on our hands now and our priority is getting you as far away from this as possible. Put her somewhere secure,” he said to the police.

  “There’s a Russian intelligence officer on the island,” Taylor said as the police grabbed her arm again. “That ship is coming to collect them.”

  Skinner stared with a mixture of fury and disbelief. “Spare us, Kathryn,” he said. One of the officers flicked a set of handcuffs open.

  “Wait,” Mackenzie said.

  “The Yantar is on its way to exfiltrate an intelligence officer who’s been living undercover,” Taylor continued. “We’ve known there was hostile penetration of the space defense program on Ascension since last year. But we never got to the bottom of it, did we, Gabriel?”

  The chief turned to Skinner. “Is this something you know about?”

  Skinner hesitated, but recovered quickly. “This is a distraction. If you like, I can explain exactly ​—”

  “Save it.” The chief turned back to the police. “Bring her to the command room.”

  Taylor was led to the lifts. The five of them squeezed in and plummeted down four floors beneath the pavement, where she was ushered through a security pod, past thick metal doors, into the tunnels. They must have passed back under Whitehall, under the Cenotaph, into the beginnings of War Command. There were several subterranean checkpoints, then a decontamination area. Two more armed police stood outside double doors signed DEFENCE CRISIS MANAGEMENT CENTRE. At a nod from Mac­kenzie they knocked, turned the handle, and stepped back.

  The room was bigger than Taylor expected, centered on a vast table with multiple sockets and fixed phones. Secondary workstations around the edges of the room included some form of communications hub with staff wearing headphones and mics. Thirty or so people in total, a handful in military uniform, most suited. She recognized the chief of defense staff, the head of MI6 military liaison, the secretary of state for defense himself. Screens in each corner showed live satellite maps, one tracing the Yantar as it crossed the South Atlantic, one, disconcertingly, showing the night sky. A monitor on the table linked with the military’s Permanent Joint Headquarters in Northwood, another to a command center with men and women in US military uniforms.

  Taylor was ushered to the front.

  “This is Kathryn Taylor from our South Atlantic team,” Mackenzie said. “Tell us what you know.”

  “I believe the Yantar is on its way to rendezvous with a Russian intelligence office
r who’s been operating under deep cover on Ascension Island. His cover’s been blown. The signals blockage on the island is consistent with an exfiltration attempt and probably originates from a portable device operated by the officer himself.”

  There was a second as they processed this.

  “Who is he?” an American commander on the video link asked.

  “He’s been living undercover as Thomas Lindgren,” Taylor said, “married to Anne Lindgren.”

  “General Anne Lindgren?” the commander said.

  “His face matches archived records for an SVR officer named Nikolai Pravik. I believe the discovery of his true identity connects to the death of a British intelligence officer on the island and possibly the disappearance of two children. It’s been known for some time that Russia has a source there, code-named Gemstone, instrumental in the supply of space-related intelligence to China. Previous attempts to identify him have been complicated by the sensitivity of the joint US-UK arrangements.”

  “Can you confirm this?” Mackenzie asked Skinner.

  “I’ll be briefing in due course,” Skinner said.

  “Due course is now. I need to know exactly what happened, why a hostile agent has been allowed to continue operating in the heart of our defense program. I want to know what you knew and when, and how extensive you believe the damage to be. A full report, today.”

  Skinner looked sick. He gave a nod and left the command room silently. In his absence Taylor’s credibility seemed to grow.

  “What is the current situation on the ground there?” the commander asked. “Where is Pravik?”

  “It’s not clear. I have one officer in place who may be able to do something, but it seems he’s come under the suspicion of both US and UK security. I need them to be instructed to support him. He’s in a position to bring about a peaceful outcome. But not on his own.”

  Taylor felt the emptiness of the words in her mouth. What could Kane do? Where was he?

  “Does your officer know about Pravik?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Possibly. I can’t say for sure. It’s difficult establishing contact.”

  “How would this rendezvous work?” the minister for defense wanted to know. “If the ship is on its way to pick him up.”

  “That’s not clear either.”

  There were rumblings of discontent. A few individuals turned back to their monitors.

  “I think we can advise caution with regards to the ship,” the chief of defense staff said. “Keep shadowing. Hold fire.”

  “Hold fire only until we’ve ascertained more details,” the minister said. “It’s in our waters, well within striking distance, and we’re authorized to neutralize it if we see fit.”

  33

  Anne drove as if possessed. For the second time that day Kane thought he might die in a car accident. They hurtled toward Georgetown. The only other vehicles they saw were racing toward Devil’s Ashpit or carrying civilians to the airbase. Green Mountain sat wreathed in smoke, birds circling out in frantic clusters.

  Georgetown was in disarray. It had been evacuated fast, with the remains of last night’s crisis littering the place. A couple of abandoned dogs remained beside the church. Terrified donkeys stumbled through gardens into the road. The rollers crashed in high, spray visible above the roofs.

  “There’s his car.”

  Anne hit the brakes. The Buick with its bullet-cracked windscreen sat parked at the edge of the jetty.

  “Jesus Christ. What happened?” she said, getting out and starting to run. “His boat’s still there,” she shouted, as they crossed the concrete. Then they saw Thomas and Carina.

  The pair stood at the bottom of the jetty’s steps, water lapping at them. Thomas was helping Carina on with her life jacket. They looked absurdly fragile beside the vicious sea. The tide was in and their dinghy tossed fiercely.

  “Thomas!” Anne called over the crash of the waves, starting down the steep steps toward him. “This is insane. Stop it, whatever’s going on.”

  He straightened, pointed the gun at her.

  “Get away, Anne. I’m sorry.”

  Carina began screaming. “Mommy!”

  “Thomas, are you crazy? What the hell . . .”

  Anne took another step.

  “I’m serious. Don’t come closer, Anne. Please.”

  Thomas held the girl in one hand and the gun in the other. They ducked as a wave broke, drenching them. Kane began down the steps behind Anne, calculating options. The pair were unstable on the bottom step. Thomas needed to turn to climb into the dinghy, but the waves were getting more violent. He’d need both hands to help the girl in.

  Anne was still moving, one step at a time.

  “Talk to me. Thomas, please. Give me Carina.”

  Thomas clung to the girl. If he fired, Kane would have two or three seconds to move. Could he reach him before he re-sighted? If Anne lunged first, it was anyone’s guess. They’d all be an inch from the edge. But another factor had begun massing in the distance: a roller, slow and huge. Kane was watching it grow when another voice came from above them.

  “Let her go.”

  Connor stood on the quay. He let his bike drop to the ground, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the Beretta.

  “Let her go,” he said again, aiming at Thomas.

  “Connor,” Thomas said. “You don’t understand the situation and you don’t know how to use that.”

  Connor stood very still with the gun raised, both hands on the grip.

  “Let Carina go,” he said.

  “Connor, listen. You could hit your sister.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” Connor said. “Let her go or I’ll shoot her too. I’ll shoot her first. Would you let that happen?”

  “Jesus Christ, Connor.”

  Kane wondered if he’d reloaded. The original bullets were still in his pocket, but there would have been more at the cabin. If so, would he shoot? It depended on how much the boy had figured out. With both parents fixated on Connor, Kane moved past Anne until he was three steps away from the bottom.

  “Put the fucking gun down, Connor,” Thomas yelled. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Connor,” Anne said. “Do what he says. This isn’t helping. Put the gun down.”

  “You killed them,” Connor said.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thomas said.

  “Don’t I?”

  Kane was inches away from them now. The wave was still building monumentally. No way he could disarm Thomas and secure the girl at the same time. It was going to be a question of risking a shot and praying it went wide. But unless Kane himself was secure, that would be for nothing. He saw an old mooring line wrapped around the rails at the side and began to unwind it.

  “Connor,” Anne screamed. “Please.”

  The wave began to curl. Now Anne saw it too, and she swore. Thomas glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to them. He’d frozen. Kane twisted the rope around his arm, reached out to Carina.

  “I’ve got her. Come on, Carina. Step toward me quickly.”

  For a split second it looked like the girl might reach out, but then she turned and clung to her father.

  It hit them like an explosion. Kane felt his feet swept from under him. The water drowned the steps, and when it drew back, Thomas and Carina were gone. Then two heads broke the surface of the sea, a few meters out: Carina flailing, borne up by the life jacket; Thomas fighting against the water.

  Kane kicked his shoes off and dived in. Thomas had grabbed his daughter and was trying to push her back toward the steps, but struggling to keep his own head above the surface. Kane took hold of the girl as her father sank back down. He clawed backwards through the water with Carina’s limp body before the next wave hit. Anne had secured herself with the rope and reached for her, catching the girl’s arm and dragging her up onto the steps. Connor appeared beside her and helped lift his sister out, then offered a hand to Kane. But another wave was growing, sucking the se
a back and Thomas with it.

  “Get her up to the top,” Kane said. “Away from the edge.” Kane looked for Thomas. He saw a hand and launched himself toward it.

  The undertow was unlike anything he’d felt before. It sucked him out with a sense of angry purpose, away from the island to within a few meters of the drowning man, before a wave threw him back. Kane twisted to use his feet to stop himself from smashing against the jetty, managed to fill his lungs and turn again. Thomas had disappeared from view. Kane dived down, kicking hard, trying to peer through the water as he moved. Small black fishes darted unperturbed around him. He couldn’t see farther than a meter or so. Kane surfaced and there was still no sign of Thomas. Anne was calling.

  “Edward! Come back!”

  Kane sank a final time, saw nothing but the water churning clouds of fine white sand. And he knew that whatever he was trying to prove, it wasn’t going to happen.

  He thrashed his way back. The rope hit his arm. Kane pulled himself along it until he felt hands on him, dragging him onto the concrete.

  “Quick,” Anne said. She helped him up the steps. Carina lay in the recovery position at the top, still in her life jacket, vomit on the concrete beside her, watery blood over her face. Connor knelt beside her. Kane felt for the girl’s pulse, then crouched and put his cheek beside her mouth until he could feel her breath.

  “She’s breathing.”

  “Barely. She needs medical attention,” Anne said.

  “I can try and call.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. You stay with her.”

  Kane went to the harbor offices. They were locked but he smashed a window and climbed in, searching until he found a first-aid kit and foil blanket. He took them to Anne, then went back to the office and assessed the various communication devices. The digital comms were down, but the old analog telephone worked. No answer on the island’s emergency number. He called the number for contacting Vauxhall Cross from overseas and asked to speak to Kathryn Taylor. Eventually his call was routed through to somewhere that wasn’t Vauxhall but must have been on the governmental system.

  “Elliot, is that you?” Her voice sounded miraculous in his ear.