Genome

by A. G. Riddle

  In the van off Sand Hill Road, Conner watched the footage from the drones. The National Guard units were moving closer.

  “Units two, three, and four,” he said over the radio. “Abandon your vehicles and take up covered positions in the woods.”

  From the van’s front seat, Goins turned to face Conner. “If they look in the vans, they’ll see the gear and ordnance.”

  It was a good point, one Conner hadn’t considered. But he would never concede that fact. He glared at the man. “I wasn’t finished, Major.”

  He activated the radio again. “Take all possible measures to cover the van’s contents and make sure they’re locked.”

  To Doctor Park, he said, “How long?”

  “How long for what?”

  “Until the memory finishes, Doctor. Focus.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Guess.”

  He exhaled. “Fifteen minutes? Maybe a little more or less.”

  “Can we move this van?”

  Park’s eyes grew wide. Conner knew that expression.

  “Speculate, Doctor. If we moved a block away, into a more hidden place, what might happen?”

  “I have no frame of reference to even speculate.”

  “Doctor.”

  “Okay… The memory could stop. Or he could become a vegetable. Or nothing. Maybe it would just keep going. I have no idea.”

  Goins looked back at Conner, awaiting instructions.

  “We stay put,” Conner said. “The four of you,” he motioned to the mercenaries, “get out and cover the van from the tree line. We’ll hide the equipment. The doctor and I will stay with Desmond.” He pointed to the beeping monitor. “Can you silence that thing?”

  Park punched a button, and the noise ceased.

  Ten minutes later, Conner, the doctor, and Desmond lay in the back of the van, covered in thick blankets and empty boxes. They had done their best to make the back of the van look like it was an abandoned shelter.

  Conner waited and listened. The minutes dragged by. Finally, he heard the Humvees roar into the parking lot. Doors opened. Boots on the pavement, running. Someone shouting assignments to the troops sweeping the building.

  Footfalls, closer, moving toward them. Someone tried the handle to the driver’s-side door, found it locked.

  Conner gripped his sidearm.

  Chapter 11

  Deep inside the Beagle, Peyton tried to make herself sleep. Since childhood, she had always dreaded going to sleep. She had often lain awake, obsessing over things, her mind playing out scenarios, rehearsing the future.

  She turned over and pulled the thick stack of blankets tight against her. They were cold to the touch. She was still freezing. She, Lin, Nigel, and Seaman Rodriguez lay next to each other on the floor, trying to pool their body heat under the blankets. Their helmets were off, conserving their oxygen.

  Chief Adams sat by the entrance, an automatic rifle across his lap. The glow of a video monitor cast the sharp lines of his face in shadow. There was no motion on the four night-vision cameras he’d placed throughout the sub.

  An LED bar clicked on right next to Peyton. She saw her mother’s face staring at her.

  “You need to rest, dear.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “Peyton.”

  “All right,” she muttered.

  She closed her eyes, faking sleep like she had done countless times as a child.

  “I’ve seen that routine a time or two.”

  Peyton opened her eyes.

  “What are you thinking about?” Lin asked.

  “The attack.”

  Lin stared at her a moment. “And?”

  Peyton hesitated. “Desmond.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “But I believe it. And you have to believe it. Don’t give up hope. It’s a very powerful thing, darling.”

  A silent moment passed.

  “If they get Rendition from him, what will they do with him?”

  Lin glanced away. “Desmond means a great deal to Conner. He wouldn’t harm him.”

  “Desmond betrayed him.”

  “Forgiveness is what makes families work.”

  Peyton knew her mother was actually talking about her brother. “I hope you’re right—”

  The groaning sound of ripping metal echoed through the sub like a sea creature crying out from above.

  Nigel sat up, wild-eyed, breathing fast. “Are they here?”

  Rodriguez slipped out from under the blankets and grabbed his rifle.

  Adams kept his focus on the monitor.

  The sub shuddered.

  “Was that a missile?” Nigel asked.

  A beating sound thrummed through the vessel, slow at first, then a rush, like a thousand wild horses charging across the sub’s hull.

  Lin’s voice was calm, as if she were merely inquiring about the weather. “Assessment, Mr. Adams.”

  “She’s taking on water.”

  “Source?”

  “Unknown. Best guess is the docking port.”

  It took Peyton a second to put it together. The tearing metal sound was their submersible being pushed away from the Beagle, leaving the docking port open, which was letting water flood into the sub. She and her mother had sealed the bulkhead doors around that section, so there was no risk of further flooding, but this meant their only method of reaching the surface was gone. They were now completely trapped. If help didn’t come, they would die down here, starving and frozen, just like the crew of the Beagle did thirty years ago.

  Lin gave no hint of the fear Peyton felt. “Revised recommendations, Chief?”

  “Doubt they’ll press the attack immediately, ma’am. They know we heard it. They want us to panic, tire ourselves out.”

  “I concur.” Lin turned to Nigel and Peyton. “Let’s get some rest. We’ll soon need it.”

  Nigel rolled his eyes. “Sure. No problem. There’s just one tiny little thing bothering me about the revised recommendations. We—are—trapped down here! I mean, are we even going to talk about that?”

  “No, Dr. Greene, we’re not. We will, however, solve that particular problem when the time comes.”

  “Great, great,” he said, nodding theatrically. “Just, you know, speaking for myself here, I’d like a brief preview of this magical solution that will free us from this frozen prison at the bottom of the ocean. I’m just saying—it would help me sleep.”

  Lin shot a glance at Peyton, then focused on Nigel. “You’ll have to trust me, Dr. Greene. And after we get out of here, you’ll have to trust me a lot. So get used to it.” She settled back under the blankets and pulled them to her chin. “Now I’m going to get some sleep. I suggest you all do the same.”

  A sly grin crossed Seaman Rodriguez’s face as he slipped under the covers. Nigel followed reluctantly, and Peyton nestled close to her mother once again.

  Lin clicked off the LED light. A few minutes passed in silence. To Peyton, they felt like hours. Every creak and sound was like an alarm. She listened, wondering each time if the attack had begun.

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, broken only by the dim green glow from the monitor, she could make out her mother’s face. Lin’s eyes were open and determined.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Peyton whispered, reciting the phrase her mother had said to her countless times.

  “I wouldn’t sell my thoughts for all the tea in China.” Lin smiled. “But I’d give them to you.” She paused. “Altamira.”

  “The cave. The picture with the ancient paintings.”

  Lin nodded.

  “You think Dr. Kraus hid something there—for you to find.”

  “Probably.”

  “If…” Peyton swallowed. “When we get out of here, that’s our destination?”

  “No. Not at first.”

  “Where then?”

  “Oxford.”

  Peyton knew her mother had done research at Oxford du
ring the years they lived in London. As a child, she had always dreaded the days when her mother took the train to and from Oxford. She would depart early, before Peyton awoke, and would return home late, after Peyton had gone to bed. And she was always tired the next morning.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “The oath.”

  “The Latin phrase on the picture. What does it mean?”

  “It’s an oath taken before you can be admitted to the Bodleian Library. It’s been signed and uttered by some of the most famous scientists and leaders in history.”

  “And by you?”

  “Yes. I believe Kraus hid something there—for me to find. He wants me to start there.”

  Nigel sat up, not bothering to keep his voice low. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Dr. Greene?” Lin said flatly.

  “It’s a needle in a haystack. I graduated from Oxford. There are millions of volumes at the Bod.”

  “I know what I’m looking for, Dr. Greene.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there. Now I really am going to sleep.”

  In the Citium submersible Ice Harvest, Commander Furst opened his eyes and silenced the alarm. The two remaining men in his team roused as well. It was time to begin.

  They cleared the floor and laid out the map of the Beagle Yuri Pachenko had supplied. After disconnecting the Shaws’ submersible from the sub, they had reconnoitered the ship’s perimeter, noting hull breaches, and updated the map, coloring the flooded sections in blue.

  The lab complex was located in the center of the middle deck. The Citium had valued that space above all others in the vessel: it was shielded with redundant bulkheads and had a separate air and power supply. There was little question that the Shaws had retreated there. It was defensible, but Furst had the tools to overcome anything they threw at him. And the truth was, Lin and Peyton Shaw had nowhere to go. Killing or capturing them was simply a matter of time.

  Furst pointed to a compartment on the same deck as the lab complex, nearly sixty feet away. “We’ll insert here. Prep the rovers.”

  One of his men took a rover from the shelf and duct taped a handheld radio to the top, careful not to cover the camera. He repeated the task with the second rover, then held up his own radio. “Radio check.”

  The other man tested the plasma torch, then turned his attention to the ship’s controls. They moved close to the sub and hovered. The horizontal docking tube extended and attached, its magnetic clamps echoing loudly. The water drained from the tube, and the man affixed his helmet. He turned to Furst, who had also donned his helmet in preparation for the frigid burst of air, and awaited the order.

  Furst nodded. “Proceed, Chief.”

  The man opened the hatch, crawled to the hull, and lit the torch. They’d be in soon.

  The sound was like a gong tolling. Peyton sat up.

  Adams was on his feet. Rodriguez too.

  “What’s—”

  “They’re breaching,” Adams said. “Get ready.”

  On the screen inside the Ice Harvest, Furst watched the rovers depart in opposite directions. Each was operated by one of his men, who stared at the night-vision video feed as they drove. The green-tinted view of the sub’s passageways was like a documentary tour of a shipwreck.

  “Got something.”

  On the left screen, Furst saw what looked like a blanket stretched across the corridor.

  “Use the arm to lift it up and look under. Don’t cross the threshold.”

  On the screen, the blanket lifted, revealing a wall of white.

  The chief switched off night vision.

  Three rows of crew bunks stretched out four deep. Bodies had been rolled to the back, the blankets removed. A dozen round LED lights the size of hockey pucks were spread out on the floor, with a few in each bunk.

  “Pull the blanket down,” Furst said. “And proceed.”

  His eyes moved over to the cans of smoke and tear gas they had set out for their plan. He’d have to adjust slightly.

  “Trip wire,” the other specialist called out. “Improvised.”

  Furst watched the rover’s camera arm extend and pan.

  “It’s not live,” the specialist said.

  “Cut it down.”

  The next trip wire was live—rigged to what looked like C4. Smart—they had rigged the explosives deep in the ship, far enough from the hull.

  Furst marked it on the map.

  An hour later, the rovers had searched all the corridors they could. Each now sat at a locked hatch. The lab complex wasn’t far beyond.

  Chief Adams stared at the screen. “They’ve got a rover.” He squinted. “Something strapped on top. Could be explosives.”

  “They’re searching for us?” Peyton asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Adams replied. “And disabling our countermeasures.”

  “We could kill the rover,” Rodriguez said.

  Adams didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Too risky. Might be trying to draw us out.”

  “Draw us out?” Nigel asked, clearly disturbed.

  “They could be waiting near the rover, ready to attack.”

  Peyton was again impressed with Adams. Even under pressure, he was focused and clear-headed.

  Adams studied the screen. “Okay, make that two rovers.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Lin asked.

  “We wait for now.”

  Furst and his men snaked through the passageways, deploying trip lines of their own, careful to avoid the enemy explosives they’d identified. They were almost ready.

  The sound of metal on metal captured everyone’s attention. Adams rotated the monitor so they could see it. In the corridor where the first rover still sat, a can was rolling toward it, smoke billowing from one end.

  “Tear gas,” Adams muttered.

  Another can rolled down the passageway where the second rover waited. Then a second can rolled out in both corridors, belching a thicker cloud. Smoke. The camera’s view of the corridor was completely blocked, and all they could hear was a soft hissing.

  “They’re trying to box us in,” Adams said.

  “It seems they’re doing a good job,” Nigel spat.

  Lin shot him a look that landed like a slap to the face. The British scientist fell silent.

  “Mr. Adams?”

  “We can wait, make our stand here.”

  “Or?”

  “Or we go out there, fight at a place and time of our choosing.”

  “And then what?”

  Adams shook his head. “One thing we know for sure: there’s only one way off this sub and back to the surface.”

  “Their submersible.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What are you proposing?” Peyton said.

  “Rodriguez and I will take the fight to them. The three of you will take a different route, search for their vessel and escape.”

  Silence fell over the group.

  “There’s no other way,” Adams said. “They’re going to blow one or both of those hatches next. They’ll use the rovers, and tear gas, and smoke, and they’ll keep tightening the noose on us. We’ll all have to suit up soon. We’ll have a few hours of oxygen left—assuming a bullet doesn’t puncture our suits. Time is not on our side. We have to make a move.”

  “Making a move could be dangerous,” Lin said. “We have to assume they’ve placed their own booby traps throughout the ship.”

  Adams nodded.

  “And even if you and Seaman Rodriguez neutralize the enemy, we face a difficult task getting out. We need a clear route. There’s another solution here, one we’ve overlooked.”

  Adams raised his eyebrows.

  “The item strapped to the rover.”

  “I’m assuming it’s an explosive—for use on the hatch.”

  “A reasonable bet, but I count it as unlikely,” Lin said. “Our adversary would be averse to sacrificing a rover—they need them to clear beyond the hatch.”


  “Then…”

  “It’s a radio.”

  Peyton didn’t follow her mother’s line of reasoning.

  “There’s another way out,” Lin said. “For all of us. But it will require Peyton and I to risk our lives.”

  She glanced at Peyton, seeking support.

  Adams shook his head, as if disgusted by the idea. “Negative, ma’am. Our first priority—”

  “I’m in,” Peyton said. “I’m tired of leaving people to die.”

  Peyton followed her mother through the passageway, their helmet lights carving beams into the darkness. Adams had put up a good fight, but he’d soon realized how futile it was to argue with Lin Shaw when her mind was made up.

  “Many years ago, in Rio de Janeiro,” Lin said over the comm, “Yuri and I were kidnapped. Beaten, held for ransom. Your father rescued us. He came alone, and five minutes later, he walked out with both of us, without a shot fired. He was very brave that night.” She paused. “I still think that’s why Yuri couldn’t bring himself to kill your father all those years ago, on the night he sank the Beagle. He sent men to kill him, but when your father escaped, Yuri let him go. I believe he realized then how much your father meant to him.”

  Peyton had already read this story in the pages her father had left behind for her and Desmond, but she didn’t interrupt. This sounded like a confession the older woman needed to make.

  “After Rio, your father insisted that every person leaving the ship be equipped with some sort of personal defense device.” She stopped at a closet and pried the frozen doors open. “These are those devices. They’re going to save our lives. And the rest of our team. But you have to be careful, Peyton. If you’re careless, it will be your life you take.”

  Peyton sat with her back to the wall, her helmet at her side, waiting, wondering if her mother was right. Wondering if she could do her part to save them. She had never been so nervous in all her life. She was about to fight to the death. She felt like throwing up, but she wanted to be brave. She had to—for Desmond, for her mother, and for the three men down there counting on her.