Fifty metres out at sea, Lieutenant Greyson saw the ambush and swung the Zodiac round, hitting the throttle. At the same time, he shouted into his radio transmitter. “Mayday! Mayday!”
Five rapid-response skimmers were already being launched, just as Cain had promised. But the Old Ones had been prepared for this too. In an instant, a creature appeared, plummeting out of the sky. It was a bird – but not one that belonged in this part of the world and it was a hundred sizes too big. Black feathers, a white collar around its neck, a curving beak … the bird was a South American condor. It swooped down over the Zodiac. One moment Greyson was there, leaning forward with his hand on the outboard motor, the next he had gone and the Zodiac was spinning in circles with nobody to guide it. It was impossible to say if he had been knocked into the sea or devoured. The condor let out an ear-splitting screech and soared back into the clouds. The other marines held back, knowing that if they tried to cross the water they would only die.
Matt was still standing opposite Scott, not moving as the soldiers formed. There was very little time left. Once they had solidified, they would take him.
“I’m sorry, Matt,” Scott said. “They told me what to do. I didn’t have any choice.”
“You don’t have to blame yourself,” Matt said. “I knew you were going to betray me.”
“You couldn’t have known.” Scott stared at Matt, suddenly angry. The soldiers were forming a circle around the two boys, arms and legs, swords and shields all defining themselves, being drawn out of the black haze. “If you knew, why did you come?”
“I told you in the dreamworld. We all have a part to play. This is yours.”
“To betray you?”
“Yes.”
The soldiers were ready. Matt wasn’t even trying to use his power. He simply stood there as they closed in.
“It was never my role to save the world,” Matt said.
“Then whose was it?”
“Yours.”
The nearest soldiers fell on Matt and on Richard, clubbing them down with shields that were as hard as steel. A kilometre away at sea, the commanders and marines watched helplessly through binoculars as the drama was played out, knowing there was nothing they could do.
Matt was stretched out on the shingle, unconscious. Richard was next to him. The fly-soldiers picked them up by their feet and dragged them away, disappearing in the haze. Scott stood utterly still, watching them go. He felt sick. He had known what he was doing but he had never thought it would be as bad as this.
“I knew you were going to betray me…”
Matt had known but he had still come.
The waves rolled in, breaking against the shoreline. Scott stood there for a long time, deep in thought. Then, finally, he sighed and, with heavy steps, set off back towards the fortress.
FIFTY-TWO
The cell was like an animal’s lair, deep underground and with no window, no electric light. It would have been pitch-dark but for the strange blue glow that hung in the air. The floor was covered with straw. Three of the walls were natural rock. The fourth contained a solid metal plate, which must have been the door but which seemed to have been welded into place.
Richard Cole had woken up here and had found himself alone. That was his first and his greatest fear. Scott had betrayed them after all and they had taken Matt. What were they doing with him? For the first time since this whole adventure had begun, Richard felt a sense of grief and hopelessness that threatened to tear him apart. He had flown all the way from Dubai, halfway round the world, to come to this evil place … and to what end? He had simply delivered Matt into the hands of the Old Ones. The two of them should never have gone to the meeting at Skua Bay. They should never have come to Antarctica at all.
Slowly, his thoughts turned to his own situation. He hadn’t been killed yet. The fly-soldiers had taken him alive. Could it be that they needed him for something? Or was this to be his end? As far as he could tell, he had been here for about twelve hours and nobody had brought him food or water. Maybe he had been sealed in here. This was his tomb and he had simply been left here to die. When he had first opened his eyes, he had slammed the heels of his hands against the door, shouting for attention. He had soon given up. Even if anyone could hear him, they weren’t going to come. And he could hear nothing. He had to fight against the sudden panic; the knowledge that he had been buried alive.
Why had Matt insisted on meeting Scott? It was obvious that this was going to happen. Lying on the straw, Richard felt a wave of fury that made him want to scream. How could Matt have been so stupid? How could he have been so stupid to let him have his way? Why hadn’t anyone – Cain, Lohan or Scarlett – done more to stop them? The questions were futile but they still tormented him. Once again he went over to the door and kicked out at it, shouting, making as much noise as he could.
Nobody came.
Richard forced himself to calm down. There was a danger he could lose his mind in here and then he would be no use to anybody. Perhaps that was what the Old Ones intended. But even now, even when everything had gone so wrong, he still had one tiny spark of hope. He had been aware of it the moment he had opened his eyes.
They had searched him when they had brought him here. They had taken the gun that he had been carrying. But, as impossible as it seemed, they had overlooked the other weapon he had brought, the knife that the Incas had given him – the gold tumi. It was still tucked into his belt, underneath his jacket, where he had been carrying it. He drew it out now and turned it over in his hands, examining his own reflection in the blade. It was a beautiful thing, carved with an Inca deity and a scattering of semi-precious stones inlaid in the hilt. And of course it was no accident that neither the fly-soldiers nor the prison guards had managed to find it. That was the knife’s power. It could never be found. It seemed so long ago since the Incas had given it to him. And yet he had it still. He remembered glimpsing Atoc as they launched the attack on the ice. The two of them hadn’t spoken but perhaps Atoc had been there for a reason, to remind Richard of what he had been given. One thing was certain. Richard needed the knife more than ever.
The knife was all he had left. Even as he slid it back into place, he knew that his sanity depended on it. The Old Ones might have written him off but in fact they had made their first mistake – and that told him they weren’t quite as powerful as they thought. Sooner or later, someone would come into the cell and when they did, they would be in for a surprise. Richard would go down fighting. He would feel better if he took one or two of them with him.
And if they didn’t come, if they left him to rot, the knife would give him a swifter end than the one they had planned. There was some comfort in that thought too.
Richard sat with his legs stretched out, watching the door. He wasn’t beaten yet. He was certain his moment would come.
Sitting behind his desk on the US Pole Star, Commander David Cain thought about his family, his career, his country and his religion … anything to stop him thinking about the events of the last twenty-four hours. He was on his own, seated in a room which looked more like a suite in a smart hotel than a cabin on a United States aircraft carrier. The walls were covered in green paper, the lights and furniture were antique. The portholes were concealed behind plush red velvet curtains that hung from the ceiling to the floor. A door led to a comfortably sized bedroom. The commander even had a private bathroom. But for the constant rocking movement beneath his feet, it would have been easy for him to forget that he was at sea.
He shouldn’t have come to Antarctica. At the time, based in Pensacola, Florida, he had been a man on a mission – saving not just his country but the world. It didn’t matter that he had received no official orders. As far as he could tell, there had been nobody left in a position to give them. While his ship had been idly docked there, a quarter of his men had abandoned ship, simply getting up and going home. With every day that passed, more had followed. The United States of America was falling apart, driven by catastro
phic food shortages and riots. The politicians had spent years blaming each other but doing nothing and in the end they had simply disappeared, no longer relevant. It was men like David Cain who had to take command. At least, that was what he had persuaded himself on the day he had lifted anchor and made his way south. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He hadn’t been prepared – but then nothing on this earth could have prepared him for what he had found at Oblivion. The strange thing was that Cain didn’t think he had made any mistakes. He had launched an attack that had lost almost half his army. He had met the one person who might have helped him – the leader of the Gatekeepers – and had delivered him straight into a trap. But neither of these things had been his fault – that is to say, anyone else would have done the same. He was convinced of that. The Old Ones were more powerful than anyone could have guessed. David Cain had been going to church for fifty years, but it was only now that he had actually learnt what the Devil really was.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come!” he called out.
The door opened and three men walked in. One was a fairly junior officer on the Pole Star, an ensign by the name of Paxton. The other two were dressed in the dark blue uniforms of the Royal Navy – a captain and a sub lieutenant. The captain, Johnson, had been hurt in the fighting. He was still leaning on a crutch.
“Gentlemen…?” Cain came out from behind his desk. There was no small talk, no pleasantries between them. They were all exhausted. There was nothing left to say.
“We’re leaving, Commander,” Johnson said. “There doesn’t seem to be any point in staying here, so I’ve come to say goodbye.”
“I understand that, Captain.” Cain extended a hand. “It’s been a privilege serving with you.”
“There is just one thing before we go,” Johnson went on. “We’ve managed to effect repairs on board the Percival. My men have been working 24/7 and they’ve done a terrific job. What it boils down to is that we now have limited nuclear capability restored to us.”
“You can fire your missiles?
“We can deploy five Trident missiles, sir, with twelve nuclear warheads. We could hit the fortress of the Old Ones in a little under six hours. There are still a few people camped out on the ice … mainly the medical staff and their patients. But it would be possible to order an immediate evacuation. The Percival, the Pole Star, the Pintada and the Duc d’Orléans can easily cope with the extra passengers. Of course, there are a few casualties who are too sick to be moved…”
“And there’s Matthew Freeman,” Cain added.
“If the Old Ones have him, my view is he’s probably dead,” Johnson said. He paused. “There’s every chance that a nuclear strike will do no good. After all, as it turned out, your aircraft were ineffective. But we’re leaving here anyway and I thought we might as well leave a calling card. And you never know. We’ll vaporize the mountains and melt the entire ice shelf. Even the Old Ones may not be able to survive that.”
“Why are you telling me this, Captain?” Cain asked.
“You’re still in command of this operation, sir. I don’t think I’m telling you. I think I’m requesting your authorization.”
Cain considered. The last two decisions he had made had both had disastrous consequences. And here he was, facing a crisis for the third time in a single day. The nuclear option. If Matt Freeman was still alive, he would certainly die. And the journalist with him. The girl, Scarlett Adams, was still on the ice. Would she even agree to withdraw while the other Gatekeeper was held captive? And then there were the wounded to consider, the survivors. Even if all the ships left immediately, not all of them would get far enough away…
But they had nothing left.
This was it.
“We’ll evacuate Oblivion as quickly as we can,” Cain said. “As to the timing of the missile launch, that’s entirely up to you. But if you want my authorization, you have it, Captain. Let’s give it one last shot and see if we can’t send the Old Ones back to hell.”
“Everyone is leaving,” Lohan said.
“I’ve seen.”
Scarlett had been numb with shock and disbelief ever since she had heard that Matt had been captured. She was sitting with her legs curled up and half-covered by a blanket in the upper cabin of the airbus. The temperature inside the plane had dropped several degrees but even if she could have done anything about it, she no longer cared. For the last few minutes her face had been pressed against the window, watching the last passengers make their way across the ice shelf before climbing down to the waiting ships. She still found it hard to accept that everything could have gone so wrong. When she had seen Matt in the dreamworld, it had all seemed so easy. The five of them would come together at Oblivion. They would form a gate. The Old Ones would be banished. End of story.
Except that must have been a different story. Scott really had turned against them and Matt had been taken … for a second time. He and Scarlett had been prisoners together in Hong Kong but then it had been different. They had known all along that Lohan and his men were on the way to get them out. This time there was no one. Richard, who had been such a friend to her in Egypt and Dubai, had also been captured and he was probably dead. Apart from the bodies, buried underneath a thin coating of snow, the ice shelf would soon be empty. Nobody cared about the survivors any more. Despite its grand name, the World Army was scurrying away like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“We should go,” Lohan said.
“What do you mean?” Scarlett stared at him.
“We can’t fly out of here, even if we had enough fuel. But there’s plenty of room on the boats. If we can get to Australia…”
“I’m not leaving here, Lohan,” Scarlett said. “Not without Matt.”
“Matt is dead.”
“He isn’t.”
“How can you know?”
Very briefly, Scarlett hated Lohan for the way he had asked that. He reminded her of a sulky child. “I can’t explain it to you,” she said. “He’s one of the Gatekeepers. So am I. If he had been killed, I think I’d know.”
“Then maybe it’s worse than that.” Lohan’s face was hard. “If they’re keeping him alive, try to think what they might be doing to him. They’re certainly not going to let you get anywhere near him. Either way he’s finished. You might as well leave.”
Scarlett’s temper flared. “You go if you want to,” she said. “It’ll only be the second time you’ve walked out on him. You go and save your precious skin, Lohan. You can go to Australia, or what’s left of it. I’m sure you’ll manage to survive quite a long time before the Old Ones find you. Thanks for your help. It was great knowing you.”
There was a long silence. Lohan seemed to be examining the floor in front of him. Then he looked up. “Matt told you about Serra Morte.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not how you think. I wasn’t going to leave him behind.”
“Really?” Scarlett didn’t hide her contempt. She looked out of the window again. There were fewer people on the ice, the last of them moving steadily towards the edge. “Well, you’re leaving him behind now. And me. You’d better hurry up and get down the cliff face. You’ll miss the last boat.”
“What will you do?”
“Why should you care?”
“Tell me.”
Scarlett shrugged. “I’m going to find my way into the fortress.”
“That’s not possible.” When Scarlett didn’t reply, Lohan went on. “The doors are locked. The walls weren’t even cracked by the air bombardment. And you saw that other trick they played. There could still be hundreds of them camped out on the ice.”
“Who says I’m going in that way?” Scarlett stood up and let the blanket slide onto the floor. She was still wearing her outdoor gear. “From what I understand, Scott appeared on the beach – at Skua Bay – on his own. And the fly-soldiers dragged Matt and Richard away.”
“What about it?”
“Well, unless Scott ha
s learnt how to fly, he must have walked there. There must be a path that nobody saw, leading from the beach through the cliff face. Maybe it goes right into the fortress. I’m going to get a Zodiac and go round and find out for myself.”
“That’s madness, Scarlett. If there is a path, it will be guarded. And if it leads into the fortress what good will it do? You’ll be walking into a death trap.”
“You’re right, Lohan.” Scarlett pulled on her gloves. “But I’m too tired to argue with you, and anyway, I don’t want to waste any more time. Thank you for helping me get out of Hong Kong. I hope you get back there and find your dad and all the rest of it. Maybe I’ll see you again one day. Maybe not.”
She brushed past him and took the spiral staircase down to the lower deck. The plane door was open, a few flakes of snow spinning round outside. She climbed out and crossed the ice shelf, following the last stragglers, suddenly one of them. She took one look back at the distant fortress … the great walls, the barbican, the four towers. In her heart, she knew that Lohan was right. She had no hope of saving Matt and if she was discovered that would probably make everything worse. But at the same time she was certain that if she simply left without trying, she would never forgive herself. The Old Ones might have defeated the world. But she wasn’t going to give up and let them beat her too.
It took her an hour to reach the beach. There were officers from the various navies ferrying passengers out from the edge, many of them being lifted in on stretchers. Most of the smaller boats had already gone, motoring or sailing towards the horizon, disappearing into the Antarctic mist. Eventually she managed to find an American marine who had just pulled up in a patrol boat. There were already a dozen or more people on board and there was little space left. The water, freezing cold and silvery grey, lapped close to her feet as she waved across the shingle.
The marine saw her. “I’m with the Pole Star,” he shouted. “Climb on board and we’ll get you out of here.”
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