But even as he finished saying it, the rapidly approaching throb of a helicopter told him they were too late.
Chapter Fifty-Four
There was still a tiny, rapidly dwindling chance they could escape the building before the helicopter touched down. Ben snatched up his bag and hurried after Roberta as she sprinted towards the entrance.
Just two strides behind her, he caught a glimpse of the descending chopper and the man in the tactical vest leaning out of the hatchway. He saw the compact black object in the man’s gloved hands.
As if in slow motion, he watched Roberta run into the sunlight. He yelled ‘Stop! Wait!’ But she was moving too fast. Her momentum carried her out into the open.
And then the machine gunner on board the aircraft opened fire.
Bullets punched into the concrete, sent chips of masonry bursting from the wall around the doorway. Ben skidded to a halt. Roberta had sprawled to the ground right in front of him and he couldn’t tell if she’d been hit. He reached out and grabbed her arm and yanked her violently back towards the doorway as the black Jet Ranger hovered closer with its nose raking the ground, its tail angled upwards and the shooter still firing from its open side hatch.
Ben dragged Roberta inside the building, his heart at a dead stop not just from the suddenness of the attack but from his own paralysing terror that she’d been shot. It began to beat again when she twisted to her feet and pressed against him in the shelter of the doorway.
‘Jesus,’ she gasped. ‘Another close one.’
‘Don’t ever do that again,’ he warned her, relief flooding through him.
There was little time for ceremony, though. The dust was billowing up from the floor as the chopper came in to land just a few metres from the building. Its skids were barely in contact with the ground before the shooter jumped from the hatch, effecting a rapid reload of his MP7 submachine gun as he dashed across the cracked concrete.
Ben ducked out of sight from the doorway and looked around him for a weapon. Any kind of weapon, anything that would give him an edge. Through the dust storm whipped up by the rotors he could see the fallen pistol lying a little way from Daniel’s inert body. He made a flying leap for it: snatched it up, rolled in the dust and sprang back to his feet with the weapon brought to aim as the gunman burst into the building.
‘Drop it!’ Ben yelled over the din of the helicopter turbine. The modified pistol was as good to him as a child’s toy and he was up against someone who clearly knew their business. He was all too aware that only the conviction in his voice and in his eyes could pull the bluff off.
And as the man took his finger off the trigger and lowered his weapon, for a short moment Ben thought his trick had worked. Another moment later, he realised the shooter had stood down for another reason entirely.
A man walked into the building. He was short, no more than five and a half feet tall, and from his thin white hair and heavily lined, yellowed face he looked at least seventy-five years old. A finely-cut suit that might once have been tailored to fit him hung oversized from his shrivelled form. He walked with a pronounced limp and leaned heavily on two walking sticks, one white, the other black, for support. He barely seemed to acknowledge the man clutching the submachine gun, as though the presence of armed bodyguards was something he’d been so thoroughly used to for so many years that it no longer made any impression on him. Behind him came the rest of his retinue. Six men. The two thirty-somethings in plain dark suits and dark glasses had the aura of FBI agents, though Ben was pretty sure they were anything but. The other four looked like ex-Special Forces, expert guns for hire: hard faces, hard eyes, shorn hair, all wearing the same combat armour as the guy with the submachine gun and all carrying black AR-15 rifles like the one Ben didn’t have any more.
Ben sighed and tossed away the useless pistol. Roberta slowly stepped closer to him, keeping a wary eye on the old man and his following.
The scrape and tap of the old man’s sticks on the concrete floor echoed through the building as he limped up to them. He passed Daniel Lund’s body without the slightest glance. Five feet away from Ben and Roberta, he stopped and peered at them. Much more striking than the wizened parchment skin of his face was the stone deadness in his eyes. They were the eyes of someone who’d seen things more terrible than most people could ever imagine. Someone utterly inured to the evils of this world.
‘Benedict Hope and Roberta Ryder,’ he said. His voice was as dry as sand. ‘In your separate ways, your reputations precede you. My name is Victor Craine. The few people who know me at all, know me simply as the Director. You’ve led me a merry dance the last few days. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.’
‘The pleasure’s all yours, Craine,’ Ben said. ‘We didn’t particularly want to be here.’
The Director gazed up at Ben’s face with a strange kind of detached curiosity. For all their lifelessness, his hooded eyes were intensely penetrating. ‘I see our Indonesian friends handled you a little roughly. Be assured, that order didn’t come from me. If they felt the need to subdue you, it was only because they were afraid of you.’
‘They have an interesting way of showing fear,’ Ben said.
‘They were briefed on who you are shortly after you were apprehended,’ the Director said. ‘Little wonder that your real identity terrified them so much. Your background is as impressive as your skill in evading us this far. You’ve cost the project a great deal of resources and robbed me of several of my most capable agents. Men not easily killed. Yet you dealt with them with almost embarrassing ease.’ His lips wrinkled into a smile.
‘You mean McGrath?’ Ben said. ‘I’m afraid he went all to pieces.’
‘So it would seem. And now it appears you’ve disposed of Mr Lund just as efficiently, albeit without as much mess.’ The old man shook his head. ‘I don’t know how I’ll replace him. It’s so hard to find personnel of calibre these days.’
‘Have you tried Scumbags R Us?’ Ben said. ‘I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.’
‘It could have been you, you know. We pay handsome rewards to men with the right attributes.’
‘I have other plans, thanks.’
‘I’m afraid whatever plans you have are now cancelled, Major Hope. Your little chase is over now. You really only have yourselves to blame for this outcome.’
‘I guess we should be flattered that you came all the way out here to tell us that,’ Roberta said.
The Director turned to gaze at her. ‘You and Major Hope weren’t the principal reason for my coming to Indonesia, my dear.’ For an instant he looked almost benign, grandfatherly, before the dead coldness returned to his eyes. ‘My main purpose is to oversee the exercise that is about to begin in … how long do we have, Friedkin?’ he asked calmly, without looking back.
The taller of the two plainclothes agents who were standing behind the Director looked at the chunky military watch under the sleeve of his suit and replied, ‘Twenty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds and counting, sir.’ The aide didn’t share his boss’s calmness. Even the impassive mask of a highly-trained and obedient robot couldn’t quite hide the quaver of anxiety in his voice, and he wasn’t the only one. Ben could see the armed goons all shifting their weight edgily from one foot to the other and the frowns of nervy anticipation on their faces. They couldn’t wait to get back to the helicopter. Whatever was about to happen, this was the last place they wanted to be just under half an hour from now.
‘An exercise,’ Roberta said. ‘That’s a nice euphemism for what you people do. So your little toy’s about to get another outing, am I right? One last test, a little fine tuning before … before what? The big one? Lund wasn’t lying about that, was he? He knew what was being planned.’
Craine smiled. ‘Curious to the last, Dr Ryder. I applaud your selfless devotion to science. You needn’t concern yourself with the technicalities of our operation, however, as very regrettably you won’t be around long enough to see it reach fruitio
n. Now, I think we must conclude this little chat and attend to business.’ He turned to his men, who looked unanimously relieved that the old man was finally about to move things on. ‘Bring him in.’
At the command, two of the armed heavies hurried back to the entrance, disappeared outside and returned a moment later with another man whom they frogmarched in long strides into the building. Their captive was taller than either of them, but bent over as if in pain. His wrists were bound with tape and there was a black cloth hood over his face. The front of his shirt was heavily marked with bloodstains. Ben could guess where those had come from.
Roberta glanced at Ben, questions in her eyes as she wondered what he was wondering: who was this man?
‘Release him,’ the Director ordered, and one of the goons reached up and whipped the hood off the prisoner’s head while another slipped a military knife between his bound wrists and sliced away the plastic tie.
Ben peered at the man. He was in his early forties, a white westerner, thick dark hair, solidly built and in good shape but much the worse for wear after what, judging by the colour of the livid weals and bruises all over his face, had obviously been a sustained beating going back at least a couple of days. The man’s eyes were swollen almost shut but he tried to take in his surroundings, glancing stiffly this way and that. His agonised gaze landed on Ben and Roberta, and it was clear he was thinking the same as they were: who the hell are you?
‘A little company for you while you wait,’ the Director said. ‘You have just under twenty-two minutes to become better acquainted, before the show begins.’ He nodded curtly to his men, who were all glancing with increasing agitation at their watches and throwing doubtful looks at Craine. ‘Let’s go. Seal the building. Make sure they can’t escape.’ He shuffled around on his sticks to face the entrance.
‘No restraints, no handcuffs?’ Ben said. ‘I’m surprised.’
‘You won’t be, when you see what we have planned for you,’ Craine replied. ‘You’re about to take a ring-side seat at an event that should prove quite spectacular. Consider yourselves soon to become part of history. Adieu, Dr Ryder. Major Hope, it was a sincere pleasure.’
‘Au revoir, Mr Craine,’ Ben said.
‘Don’t be so sure about that. Every man meets his end. You’ve had a good run. Accept yours now.’
Apparently satisfied that he’d had the last word, Craine began limping as quickly as he could towards the doorway. The plainclothes suits followed in jittery haste. The soldiers hurried out last, keeping their weapons trained on Ben, Roberta and the nameless prisoner until the last moment. Then they heaved the tall steel doors shut with a clang and chained them shut from the outside.
Moments later, the helicopter took off. Once again, the three inside were left alone.
Chapter Fifty-Five
It was the bruised stranger who spoke first, flinching at the pain from his split lips. ‘I’m Jack Quigley, CIA. Who the hell are you two?’
‘That’s funny. The CIA are the good guys now?’ Roberta said.
Ben looked at his watch. He said, ‘This is Roberta. I’m Ben. We can leave proper intros for another time, Quigley. There are more pressing matters right now, like getting out of here within the next nineteen minutes.’
Quigley motioned at the dead body on the floor. ‘Your friend there have a name? Looks like his neck’s broken.’
‘I wouldn’t have done it to a friend,’ Ben said. ‘His name was Daniel Lund. He was one of them.’
‘I figured maybe you were one of them as well,’ Quigley said. ‘And that I was next on your list after this Daniel guy.’
‘Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,’ Ben said. ‘We’re all in the same boat here. What do they want with you?’
‘I got in their way,’ Quigley said, tight-lipped. ‘I guess I need rubbing out, like everyone else who does.’ The fury he was holding in suddenly boiled over, and with a passion that reopened the cuts on his face and mouth and started them bleeding again, he burst out, ‘The bastards killed my girlfriend, Mandy. They even killed my dog. And they killed Mitch too. I know that now.’
Ben caught the name and remembered hearing it before. He instantly made the connection. ‘Mitch Shelton, the CIA agent who drowned? Lund told us about him. Did you and Shelton work together?’
Quigley replied, ‘He was my friend. I had no idea he’d got mixed up with these people. I still can’t believe it.’
‘He got involved, but he wanted out,’ Roberta said. ‘At the time of his death, he’d hooked up with a journalist, and they were going to blow the whistle on the whole thing.’
‘So they murdered him and fixed it up to look like an accident,’ Quigley muttered bitterly. He shook his head in barely contained rage. ‘That’s what I figured. Motherfuckers.’
‘The journalist’s not around to tell the tale either,’ Roberta said. ‘He had a little car smash.’
‘Yeah, right. Just like my house had a little gas leak. Totally destroyed, with Mandy inside. And it was my fault, because I asked her to go let the dog out while I was working late. That was the night I was with Blumenthal and he told me about the Nemesis Program, before they got to him, too. That was no heart attack.’
‘You know about Nemesis?’
‘Just what Herbie Blumenthal told me.’
‘Who was he?’
‘Science guy in D.C. Ex-DARPA. He worked for them, too. Told me he’d quit and wanted to go public with the dirt he’d uncovered, said he needed my help. I didn’t believe him at first. I didn’t want to believe him. It was Blumenthal who put me on to Mandrake Holdings and Triton. Triton, you have any idea what that is?’
‘None,’ Roberta said, glancing quizzically at Ben.
‘Blumenthal talked about some kind of … of a machine,’ Quigley went on. ‘Some technology they’ve been working on for years. A weapon, but like no other weapon that’s been used before. The new warfare, he said. Claimed they can cause things to happen. Disasters. It sounded crazy.’
‘Trust me, it’s not crazy,’ Roberta said. ‘It’s real and we’ve seen it in action.’
Quigley stared at them incredulously from between his swollen, bruised eyelids. ‘You’re not kidding, are you? But it’s impossible. Technology like that doesn’t exist.’
Roberta smiled darkly. ‘You have no idea. Nobody does, that’s the whole point. But stick around, I get the feeling you’re going to see for yourself.’
‘How did they catch you, Quigley?’ Ben asked.
‘Mandrake Holdings,’ Quigley replied. It’s a corporation with offices in New York. They’re involved in this somehow. I wasn’t thinking straight, walked right into it. Next thing I knew I was taken to some cellar someplace and these two guys were beating up on me. Wanted to know everything I knew about the Nemesis Program. Then they stuck me on a plane and, well, here I am. What’s your story?’
‘You lost a friend,’ Roberta said. ‘So did I. Yours wanted to blow the whistle on them from the inside, she was trying to expose them from the outside. She called me for help. When I got there, it was already too late.’
As Roberta and Quigley went on talking, Ben broke away from them and started pacing the floor. Time was slipping away fast and they had to find a way out of this place.
He hurried over to one wall and examined it. The plasterwork was old and crumbly in places where the salt air had permeated it, but the stone behind it was thick and solid. He craned his neck upward to peer at the high windows. Above the massive cobwebbed latticework of rusty steel girders, the roof itself was heavy-duty tin plate. Long ago in the building’s history there had been a first floor up there and the roof space had been used as a storage area of some kind. Ben spotted a dusty coil of rope looped around one of the beams, some forty feet out of reach. It didn’t look promising.
He ran back across the dusty floor to the entrance and leaned his weight a few times against the steel door. It barely moved half an inch before the chain outside became taut. Had some miracle provided
him with a pair of heavy-duty bolt croppers capable of shearing the galvanised steel links, the gap in the door would have been too narrow to jam them through. The door hinges were massive affairs and set deep into the stone of the wall. Ten men with sledgehammers couldn’t have budged them in an hour. And Ben didn’t have an hour.
‘We have just over sixteen minutes, people,’ he said to Roberta and Quigley, glancing again at his watch. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen. I do know that we don’t want to be trapped in here when it does. So I suggest we start thinking hard.’
‘This is where Claudine’s oscillator would have come in handy again,’ Roberta murmured, looking around her at the walls of their prison.
‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Ben said. ‘We barely got out of it last time.’
‘What do you think’s going to happen, Ben?’ she asked him anxiously.
He shrugged. ‘Craine could have had us shot. Quigley too. But they’ve gone to some lengths to bring us all here as a neat way of disposing of us that won’t raise too many questions. Whatever they’re planning, we’re not intended to survive it and Craine must be pretty confident we can’t. We can only assume he knows what he’s talking about.’
Roberta nodded grimly. ‘That’s how I see it too. And if my guess is right, we won’t be the only ones. Just three more victims.’
‘Victims of what?’ Quigley said.
‘Something you don’t even want to think about,’ Roberta told him. ‘Just pray I’m wrong.’
Quigley stared at her through his swollen eyelids. ‘What are the chances you’re wrong?’
‘Slim to zero,’ she said. ‘Ben, we’ve got to get out of here, and fast.’
Ben checked his watch once more. Fifteen minutes, thirty seconds. The countdown was racing faster than seemed real. Pressure roared inside his head. Thinkthink thinkthink …
At the distant far end of the vast empty space, half-hidden and barely noticeable among the shadows, was a row of doors. A long shot, but worth trying. He raced across the concrete, wrenched open the first door and found himself inside what must originally have been an office, maybe an accounts room or an administrator’s office. Now it was just a shell, bare and desolate. What might once have been an emergency exit or fire escape leading off from inside had long since been bricked up, along with the window next to it. He kicked the wall so hard it hurt his toe. No way out there, not even if he’d been able to find something large and solid to batter against it.
The Nemesis Program_Ben Hope Page 29
