It was then that the roof itself caved in and the New York State Library—amid the sound of girders creaking and explosions multiplying and fires burning—collapsed in a blaze of glory and, despite the pouring rain, began to burn itself into oblivion.
James Marshall stared in dumbstruck awe at the fiery demise of the building that had promised him so much.
There had been nearly thirty agents inside that building when the explosions had gone off. None could have survived.
Marshall just stood there, watching the building burn. They would get nothing from this building. Just as they would get nothing from the rotunda. Marshall himself had seen the big black creature crash through the main entrance. And he had seen it explode.
A white-hot—micro-nuclear?—explosion like that would not leave much behind. Christ, it wouldn’t leave anything behind.
Marshall put his hands in his pockets and walked back to his car. Phone calls had to be made. Explanations had to be given.
This night had been the closest they had ever come to contact. Perhaps the closest they would ever come.
And now? Now what did they have?
Nothing.
Stephen Swain sat on the subway train with his daughter asleep in his lap.
At every jolt of the train, they would tilt and sway with the other four passengers in their carriage. It was late and the near-empty train would get them to the outskirts of New York City. From there they would catch a cab—an expensive cab—back to Connecticut.
Back home.
Holly slept peacefully in Swain’s lap, occasionally rolling over to make herself more comfortable.
Swain smiled sadly.
He had forgotten about the wristbands that all the contestants in the Presidian had to wear. When the electrified walls had disappeared, their wristbands—like his—must have also been set to detonate. So when the Karanadon had exploded with Swain’s wristband, the other wristbands had gone off, too, wherever they happened to be—Reese’s in the underground parking lot, Balthazar’s on the Third Floor, and even Bellos’, at the bottom of the elevator shaft.
Swain looked at his clothes—greasy, black, and in some places, bloody. Nobody on the train seemed to care.
He laughed softly to himself. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat as the train rumbled off through the tunnel toward home.
EPILOGUE
New York City
1 December, 4:52 a.m.
Workers on the New York Subway called it the Mole, an ordinary electric engine from a subway train that had been converted into a street-sweeper on rails.
Late at night, when subway services were at a minimum, the Mole would amble through the tunnels, its rotating forward sweepers scooping up any debris that might have fallen onto the tracks during the previous day. At the end of its run, all that debris would be tipped from the Mole into a furnace and destroyed.
Later that night, the Mole made its usual trip through the subway tunnel adjoining the State Library. And as it passed the Con Edison Booster Valve, the driver began to doze.
He never noticed the open doorway, never noticed the crumpled interior—packed solid with collapsed bricks and fragmented concrete.
And he never noticed the soft clink-clink of metal on metal that rattled underneath the Mole as it went past the Booster Valve.
The Mole ambled off down the tunnel, and all that remained in its wake was a pair of handcuffs, clasped to the track.
AN INTERVIEW WITH MATTHEW REILLY
THE WRITING OF CONTEST
What inspired you to write Contest?
There were two key inspirations for me to actually sit down and write Contest. First, the works of Michael Crichton. I still believe that Dr Crichton is the best storyteller in the world today. Not only are his stories original, they are also told at a cracking pace. Back in 1993, the year after I finished high school, my brother, Stephen, gave me a book and said, ‘I’m told Steven Spielberg is going to make this into a movie, It’s about a theme park built around genetically engineered dinosaurs.’ More than any other book I have read, Jurassic Park made me want to tell big action stories (especially stories with big scary ‘animal’ elements).
In terms of the story, the inspiration to write Contest came from my love of sports. I think there is drama in any kind of competition. All I did to turn that into a story was to make my contest the ultimate contest—if you win, you live; if you lose, you die.
Contest originally appeared in late 1996 in self-published form. What are the differences—if any—between the self-published version and this one?
In terms of the overall story, there are no differences. Structurally, it is exactly the same now as it was back in 1996. The differences come in the finer detail—in the way Swain does battle with the other contestants. The biggest alterations I made were in the ‘final confrontation’ scenes involving Swain and the three big villains of the book: Bellos, Reese and the Karanadon. In the original version of the book, these scenes were not as complex. Now they are bigger, badder and meaner.
The other big change was the addition of the Konda and the Rachnid. In the 1996 version, these two contestants weren’t named or described. The reason for this was simple: when I originally wrote the book, I dreamed up six different alien species (Reese, Bellos, the Codex, Balthazar, the hoods and the Karanadon) and I just couldn’t think up any more! But after a few years of thinking about Contest, I came up with these two extra species. So I put them in.
Apart from those, there are a lot of small changes, ranging from tightening the narrative in places to telling the reader how Swain’s wife died, a piece of backstory that didn’t appear in the self-published edition.
You mentioned that there are ‘big scary animal elements’ in your novels. Tell us about the various creatures in your books. Why are they there and why do you choose the ones you do?
I wish I could think of some loftier purpose, but the true reason for the big scary animal elements is very simple: they’re there to eat people. I think there is nothing better in a book or movie than to see someone running from a big scary creature (think Jurassic Park, Jaws, or Aliens).
As for why I choose the creatures I choose, well, in Ice Station, for instance, I selected killer whales and elephant seals because I wanted the water to be a dangerous place—kind of like Jaws. The elephant seals were also the guardians, so to speak, of the underground cavern—making it a challenge to get there. In Temple I went one step further, and tried to make land and water dangerous places to be. There I used rapas (big, black, five-foot-tall cats which are the subject of myths in South America) and caimans (large crocodilians). I chose those animals because I wanted Temple to be darker and scarier then Ice Station.
As for Contest, well, as any Hollywood screenwriter will tell you, the best creatures of all are the ones you make up. For when you create an alien species, there are absolutely no limits. They can bleed acid (Alien), they can see via infra-red (Predator), or they can just be bigger, meaner and nastier than the biggest, meanest and nastiest Earth-based creatures.
Do you have the ending in your head when you start writing a new novel?
Ah, yes! This is Frequently Asked Question No. 1. Whenever I meet people and they discover I am an author, they always ask this question! The answer is: yes . . . usually.
The reason I say ‘Yes . . . usually’ is because I feel that some flexibility is always required.
For example, the last line of Temple (which I won’t give away, for those who haven’t read it) was something that occurred to me halfway through writing the book. I love that line, and It’s a great reason to remain flexible.
As for Contest, one question that nagged me all the way through the writing process was: how the hell am I going to kill the Karanadon? The answer—using Swain’s wristband—came to completely out of the blue. It just hit me. I started dancing around the house, pumping my fists in the air. It was so neat, so tidy, it saved Swain and yet it left no trace of the Karanadon
. But neat as it appears in the book, it was not something I knew from the very start. Again, flexibility.
Pace and speed are key ingredients in all your novels. What drives you to make your books move so quickly?
For me, reading is all about being transported, being taken away from the real world. Escaping. Some people write to educate, inform, or explore character motivation in considerable depth. I write to entertain. Fast storytelling is part of that—if I can get readers to read fast, to literally forget that they are reading, then I think I have done my job.
A great inspiration for me in this department was Thomas Harris and his brilliant novel The Silence of the Lambs. That book was only 294 pages long (in hardback) and it packed a hell of a lot into those 294 pages.
One of the things I learned very quickly about writing books is this: you do not have to waste words. I know what it’s like to start writing a book. You say to yourself, ‘Gosh, this is a long piece of work, I’d better fatten it out a little.’ Wrong. To my mind, readers quite simply don’t have time for an author who wastes words. Now I know what you’re thinking: how does a young guy like me, all of twenty-six, know this with such certainty? Simple: I am a reader. In fact, I am the most critical reader in the universe. If I find a book that I’m reading is getting too slow or wordy or ponderous, then I hurl it down and grab another. Life is too short. And besides, if not wasting words is good enough for a master like Thomas Harris (or for Michael Crichton, another great example), then I figure it’s good enough for me.
Believe me, when I write my books, I re-read them over and over, with a red pen in my hand. Any wasted words get struck out fast.
So how has life changed for you in the past year? What are some of the strangest things you have experienced since the success of your books worldwide?
I once did a signing in the departure lounge at Singapore Airport between 10 and 11 p.m. During that signing, a very distinguished-looking fellow strode directly up to me, stood in front of my table—which, of course, was covered with piles of books and large posters of my smiling author photograph—and said, ‘Excuse me, but can you tell me where I can buy stamps?’ Ah, fame.
I appeared on The Big Breakfast television show in England, live, in front of 5 million people (no pressure). And I recently played in a celebrity cricket match with the members of INXS and, among others, the rugby player, Matthew Burke (who told me that many of the Wallabies have read my books—go, you Aussies!).
But the strangest thing: of late, I am getting more and more emails from students—both high-school and university—regarding assignments that they are doing on authors and writing. One high-school English student was doing a book report on Ice Station and he had to discuss what, at its core, the book was about, so he emailed me through my website and asked. I wrote back and told him (as any reviewer will tell you, the literary complexities of Ice Station necessitate quite a detailed analysis!). Another school student had to do a speech in his class about an author he admired, so he did it on me. (Digression: it is really strange to think that somewhere out there, without your knowledge, someone is speaking about you in their class).
So how does Matthew Reilly figure in the so-called ‘Literary’ world?
Believe it or not, I was once asked, ‘So, Matthew. What literary purpose do your books actually serve?’ An interesting question (if a bit uppity). The answer, though, has only become apparent to me recently.
While I find that my books are read by both men and women (of all ages), I have discovered that the books, while maintaining this core market, are filtering into schools and the teenage ranks, in particular, teenage boys (a notoriously reading-resistant group). So, what literary purpose do my books serve? How about this: my books get people reading. Especially young people. I visit a lot of schools and you’d be amazed at how many students say they find reading to be a chore. My books may not win any awards, but if they get people reading, then they have a big literary function. First and foremost, reading should be fun. Sure, some books will win awards. Mine probably won’t. But I don’t write them for award judges or book critics. I write them for people like me, people who just like a good yarn to take them away from the real world for a few days.
So what does the immediate future hold for Matthew Reilly?
My books have been sold to publishers in over a dozen countries now, in nine different languages, so I will continue to tour (in the last six months, I have been to South Africa, New Zealand, England, Singapore and Malaysia promoting the release of my books in those countries).
As far as writing goes, I have just finished the sequel to Ice Station, called Area 7. It’ll be out later this year. It was an absolute blast to write! Not only was it very enjoyable to go on another adventure with some characters that I love (Schofield, Gant and Mother all return in the new book), but it was also fun to go totally ballistic trying to top Ice Station. My goals when writing Area 7 were, first, to make it bigger, meaner and faster than Ice Station, and second, to make the reader absolutely exhausted by the end. I think I have succeeded, but ultimately only readers can decide that.
I have also written several original screenplays which are attracting attention—one is about terrorism at the Sydney Olympic Games (for which I have done some shooting myself), another is a supercharged action western (no genre ever dies, they just need to be re-energised from time to time). And since George Lucas hasn’t asked me to write Episode III (yet), I’ve decided to create my own swashbuckling science fiction saga. As you do.
And, of course, there’s another book in the pipeline but it’s too early to talk about that!
Any final words?
As always, I just hope you all enjoyed the book, and I hope to see you next time.
MR
Sydney
March 2001
www.matthewreilly.com
Matthew Reilly
ICE STATION
At a remote ice station in Antarctica, a team of US scientists has made an amazing discovery. They have found something buried deep within a 100-million-year-old layer of ice. Something made of METAL.
Led by the enigmatic Lieutenant Shane Schofield, a team of crack United States Marines is sent to the station to secure this discovery for their country. They are a tight unit, tough and fearless. They would follow their leader into hell. They just did . . .
‘The pace is frantic, the writing snappy, the research thorough. Unputdownable . . .’
WEEKEND AUSTRALIAN
‘It never slows down . . . it is unlike any other new Australian novel’
DAILY TELEGRAPH
‘There is enough technological wizardry, military know-how, plot convolution and sheer non-stop mayhem to place it in the premier league of international bestsellers’
THE WEST AUSTRALIAN
‘His publisher compares him to Grisham and Crichton, but I reckon the 23-year-old is a cut above’
RALPH
‘This is Indiana Jones goes to Antarctica . . . backed by good research about weaponry, science and international jealousies’
NW
Matthew Reilly
TEMPLE
Deep in the jungles of Peru, the hunt for a legendary Incan idol is underway—an idol that in the present day could be used as the basis for a terrifying new weapon.
Guiding a US army team is Professor William Race, a young linguist who must translate an ancient manuscript which contains the location of the idol.
What they find is an ominous stone temple, sealed tight. They open it—and soon discover that some doors are meant to remain unopened . . .
‘There is no denying it. Matthew Reilly has really arrived’
DAILY TELEGRAPH
‘Like Ice Station, Temple is well researched and technically adept. Diehard action buffs will enjoy’
WHO WEEKLY
‘Probably the most breathless read in the history of airport fiction’
AUSTRALIAN BOOKSELLER & PUBLISHER
Matthew Reilly
AREA 7
It is America’s most secret base, a remote installation known only as Area 7.
And today it has a visitor: the President of the United States.
But he’s going to get more than he bargained for on this trip. Because hostile forces are waiting inside . . .
Among the President’s helicopter crew, however, is a young Marine. His name is Schofield. Call sign: Scarecrow. Rumour has it, he’s a good man in a storm. Judging by what the President has just walked into, he’d better be . . .
‘Buckle up, put the seat back, adjust the head-rest and hang on’
THE AGE
‘Matthew Reilly’s work is like Indiana Jones on fast forward, a non-stop explosion of excitement and thrills’
DAILY TELEGRAPH
‘This is one hell of a read by a recently emerged talent. Enjoy, let it shred your mind’
BULLETIN
‘This is action writing par excellence—this is up there with Michael Crichton and Tom Clancy’
FHM
‘The sheer frenzy of Reilly’s approach can inspire awe. Speed demons, take note’
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY (USA]
Matthew Reilly
SCARECROW
IT IS THE GREATEST BOUNTY IN HISTORY
There are 15 targets. And they must all be dead by 12 noon, today. The price on their heads: $20 million each.
ONE HERO
Among the names on the target list, one stands out. An enigmatic Marine named Shane Schofield, call sign: SCARECROW.
NO LIMITS
And so Schofield is hunted by gangs of international bounty hunters, including the ‘Black Knight’, a ruthless hunter who seems intent on eliminating only him.
He led his men into hell in Ice Station. He protected the President against all odds in Area 7. This time it’s different. Because this time SCARECROW is the target.
Contest Page 29
