Black Violet

by Alex Hyland

  He looked around for the shooter. ‘You see him?’ he shouted at me.

  I searched the ghostly shadows for any movement. The two guys from the cabin were still lying on the ice. The third guy must have survived too.

  ‘They know the Bragers!’ I said.

  Geary stared at me for a second. Bullets then splintered into the ice beside me. Geary swung round and fired at a figure clambering up the ridge just behind me – white snow gear – the third guy from the cabin. As Geary ran for the ridge, the ice around him began to shatter. He ground to a halt.

  ‘He’s heading for the radio at the fuel station!’ Geary shouted. ‘If they know we’re coming, it’s over!’

  I turned and ran across the creaking ice behind me – could see the guy nearing the peak of the ridge. I aimed the pistol squarely at him, held him in my sights, then paused for a split-second – shooting a guy in the back – fuck!

  ‘Do it!’ yelled Geary.

  I squeezed the trigger, but too late – the guy disappeared over the ridge. I bounded up the slope, pulling myself through the clinging snow as fast as I could. I cleared the peak, and saw him sprinting for the cabins at Salvesen Point. I tumbled down the inland side of the ridge and fired again – the bullet plowed into the drifts ahead of him. He kept running, harder now. He turned and took a shot back at me – I dived to one side. As I aimed at him, I heard a crunch in the snow behind me. I glanced back – Geary had collapsed to the ground. The guy took another shot – I swung my pistol round and fired. A mist filled the air around his head as he crumpled into the snow – a single, fleeting moment that stretched right through me.

  I’d killed.

  I struggled for breath, then stared back at Geary. I picked myself up out of the snow and scrambled over to him.

  ‘Geary!’ I yelled. ‘Geary!’

  The bullet had hit him in the neck – a thick stream of blood pumping into the snow beneath him. I pressed my hand against the wound to stem the flow.

  He stared up at me as he fought for breath.

  ‘Hold on!’ I said. ‘We’ll find some help!’

  I could already feel the wound soaking through my glove.

  ‘Just hold on!’

  Fuck, I didn’t know what to do – his eyes were closing. A black stain spreading around him.

  ‘Geary!’ I said. ‘Stay with me! We’ll find Cooper, we’ll get some help!’

  His blood poured through my fingers as he tried to speak – his voice nothing but whispers and breath.

  ‘Tell Ella…,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, no, come on, Geary.’

  ‘Tell her,’ he whispered. ‘I loved her. Tell her.’

  The fear in me as he stared weakly into my eyes. A vague smile crept across his blood-soaked lips.

  ‘You did good,’ he said.

  ‘Geary.’

  I pressed harder against the wound. ‘Geary!’

  His eyes went still. I pressed my palm against his chest and pushed. I grabbed his mouth, breathed into his lungs, then pushed again against his chest.

  ‘Geary, please.’

  I kept going – kept pushing. But the blood just poured out of him, black as oil in the polar night. It drenched the snow around his body, draining the life from him, and any hope I had of saving him.

  I slowed, then took my hands off his chest. I gazed down at him. His eyes were empty.

  As the cold spun around me, I heard footsteps tearing through the drifts by the sea. I turned to see Ella heading for the ridge. She raced up the slope, then slowed as she saw Geary’s body lying in front of me. She ground to a halt and just stood there, a frightened shadow in the snow. I stared emptily at her, then shook my head.

  High above us, the aurora shivered across the sky.

  The misery in Ella as I laid Geary’s body on the cabin floor at Salvesen Point. I closed his eyes – the hurt at having to do so, more than I’d ever have guessed. I glanced at Ella standing silently at the cabin door.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It was my fault. I had a shot. I didn’t take it. I’m sorry.’

  I meant it. I pictured him running into that gunfire as he tried to save Ella. The courage in him to do what was needed. He’d deserved better than this. Better than me.

  I gazed at this body, and felt weak. Scared.

  I was all Ella had to rely on now. Jesus. All my talk and anger, it was just noise. A fucking car thief playing soldier.

  But the fact was I’d killed someone now – that seal was broken. As sick as it had made me feel, I wouldn’t hesitate next time. I needed to be as strong for Ella as Geary had been. I stared dejectedly at Geary’s body, then glanced at the scar on my hand. If he’d had left a mark on me, I prayed it went deeper than that.

  Ella wiped the tears from her face, then stepped toward his body. I waited a moment – but there was nothing more I could say.

  I left her to say her goodbyes.

  I headed down to the water’s edge and stared at the black haze of the horizon, the Bragers hidden deep within it. I tried to keep the heart in me alive – that we could do this. But there was a truth here as cold as anything. The chances of Ella and me getting out of this alive were next to nothing now. Geary had been the best weapon we’d had.

  I glanced at the dinghy rocking gently in the water by the jetty, our bags and ropes resting on the wooden slats beside it. I stared carefully at the equipment for a moment – and there was no question in my mind. The yacht was my idea. Geary was my failing. If there was more blood to be spilled, it should be mine, not Ella’s.

  I glanced at the cabin door, then stepped aboard the dinghy. I quietly dragged our gear onto the seats, then sat down at the wheel, the Arctic air marching right through me. I pushed the ignition switch. The engine didn’t so much as stir. I stared at the console – the ignition key was gone. I scanned the seats, the floor – my heart then sinking as I heard Ella’s voice behind me on the jetty.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said.

  I eyed her carefully – the ignition key hanging from her fingers.

  ‘I don’t want you dying for this,’ I said.

  She nodded.

  ‘And you?’ she said.

  ‘You’ve got family? Friends?’ I said. ‘I’ve got no one. It’s not going to matter.’ I held out my hand. ‘Give me the key, Ella.’

  She stared out at the horizon, then leaned her head back and bathed in the glow of the aurora.

  She took a deep breath. ‘We’re going together,’ she said, and she stepped aboard the dinghy.

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t want this.’

  She handed me the key.

  ‘Ella…’

  She sat down on the rear seats, unzipped the bags, then started checking the pistols.

  ‘We need to move, Michael.’

  ‘Ella...’

  ‘Now.’

  I stared intently at her. But there was no fight here that I was going to win. This meant as much to her as it did to me.

  I nodded. So be it.

  I slipped the key into the console, then pressed the ignition switch. The engine sparked into life.

  As I took hold of the wheel, I paused a moment. ‘He said that he was sorry. That he loved you.’

  She went still and just stared at the gun in her hand.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

  I eased down the throttle, and took us out to sea. A dark horizon ahead of us.

  13

  It didn’t feel like bravery any more. It didn’t even feel like stupidity. As the dinghy carved its way through the freezing black water, it was as if gravity was pulling me forward. Like the forces of nature had grown weary of me, and were dragging me toward honor against my own will.

  I glanced down at the GPS locator – its numbers silently ticking away. We were getting close now, less than two miles to go.

  Behind me, Ella hung up the satellite phone.

  ‘Cooper’s team are sixty-four miles south of us,’ she said. ‘They’re headi
ng for a marine station on the eastern coast.’

  ‘They know about Geary?’ I said.

  She nodded. ‘They think we should wait for them.’

  I eyed her carefully. We had a little over forty minutes until Marcus’ deadline. We wouldn’t make it in time if we waited.

  ‘You think they’ll kill Tully just like that?’ I said.

  She nodded.

  ‘Then we don’t wait,’ I said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She kept her eyes on me for a moment, then unzipped a bag and laid out two heavy silenced pistols on the seat. As she reached for the spare clips, she paused. She turned and stared at the sea behind us – gazing into the darkness.

  ‘Turn off the engine,’ she said.

  I shut down the outboard, and the dinghy slowed to a drift.

  I could hear it – a faint roar in the air behind us. Ella turned the GPS locator’s glowing screen face down on the seat, and we ducked low in the dinghy.

  A helicopter thudded over us. A spinning silhouette against the aurora. Maybe two thousand feet up, its altitude began to drop as it turned and headed into the distance. We grabbed our binoculars, and watched as it descended into the haze beneath the aurora – dropping toward the horizon – and a vague shadow that was now visible in the sea.

  The Warren Gate.

  I turned the dial on the binoculars and brought the yacht into focus. It sat in the night like a ghost ship. Not a single light anywhere. Dark, lifeless decks. Its sweeping black windows revealing nothing but reflections of the sky. The helicopter descended toward it, then came to rest on the pad near the bow. I studied it carefully. Beyond the pad, two huge armored towers rose above the deck. The missile silos. Their steel housings were now gone, exposing rectangular blocks of launch tubes secured in U-shaped mounts. I could almost feel their electronic eyes searching the sea.

  I lowered the binoculars, then glanced uneasily at Ella. She nodded. I started the engine and gently eased the throttle – keeping it at a low purr as I took us forward.

  No signs of life anywhere on board the yacht. The sky twisting above it, but the ocean around it as still as steel. I listened nervously to the dinghy engine as we edged closer. The yacht’s malignant shadow slowly growing ahead of us.

  A thousand feet out and Ella signaled for me to cut the outboard. We grabbed a couple of paddles from the dinghy floor and began arcing them in long strokes through the water. Silence – just the sea lapping against the dinghy’s hull. The Arctic air motionless around us.

  An alarm then rang out across the sea – a siren from the yacht. I froze. The sound of gears grinding – the muffled boom of metal hitting metal. I gazed at the deck. The missile silos were turning. Fuck.

  I leaped for the ignition switch, my heart pounding like it was trying to break free. The engine spluttered, but didn’t fire up. I looked back – the launch tubes were facing out toward us. I hit the switch again – my eyes fixed on the silos as I waited for the star-like brilliance of a rocket engine to tear through the darkness. The outboard roared into life. I went for the throttle, but Ella grabbed my hand. She shook her head for me to wait.

  The alarm had stopped. I stayed deathly still, my fingers gripped around the throttle. Ready to accelerate. Ready to dive headlong into the ocean if I had to.

  But no star-like brilliance. No roar that filled the sky. The silos remained lifeless.

  The yacht was still again.

  Ella leaned across me and switched off the engine. She scanned the decks. If they’d seen us, there’d be people, lookouts, guns. But there was no movement anywhere. I don’t know what had happened – a system test maybe – but the quiet had returned.

  Ella eyed me for a moment, then lowered the paddle back into the water.

  ‘Slowly,’ I whispered. And I meant it – really fucking slowly.

  I took a deep breath, my gaze glued to the launch tubes as I grabbed the other paddle.

  We gently pushed ourselves forward. The speed of driftwood. The silence from the yacht like a tease – like we were ants in the shadow of some bored teenager with a hammer.

  We pulled our way through the water. Ever more slowly – ever more delicately. An icy stillness all around us as The Warren Gate loomed just ahead of the dinghy.

  The missile silos disappeared from view as the yacht’s colossal bow rose above us. I brought the dinghy to a stop and listened for any movement up on deck. They may not have known we were here, but that was little comfort. They’d know soon enough.

  As I kept the dinghy steady, Ella unwound a coil of rope. One end of it was secured to a grappling hook – its tips covered in rubber to deaden the sound. She swung the rope and launched the hook toward the rails fifty feet above us. The hook caught instantly – silently. As she tugged the rope to make sure it was secure, I tied the rope’s free end to the dinghy.

  Ella picked up the case of explosives, hung it from her shoulder, then nodded at me. I stared up at the yacht – its bow cutting a huge shadow against the glowing sky. I gripped the rope tightly in my hands, then started to climb.

  We rose through the freezing air, the dinghy shrinking away below us. A fifty-foot climb, but in less than twenty my fingers started to seize in the cold. However talented my hands may have been, they weren't built for this. They ached as I kept pulling myself higher – the pain searing through me as the lip of the deck neared. I shot out a hand, and clung desperately to one of the deck railings. I caught my breath for a second, then glanced down – Ella was right behind me. No time to recuperate. I slowly pulled my head above the deck line and searched the yacht for any movement.

  The main deck was a mess of shadows cast by the silos and the helicopter rotors. Beyond the helicopter, the upper decks rose like an apartment block. Black glass and empty balconies. I listened for any voices, any signs of life at all. I tried to pick out any CCTV cameras watching the deck, but the murky polar night wasn’t giving anything away. That worked both ways though – I doubted they’d spot us that easily either.

  The missile silos sat twenty feet to my left. This was the point of no return – the realm of the commando. I might have been little more than a pickpocket, but hatred is a powerful ally. I grabbed my pistol, slid over the rail, then ducked across to the starboard silo. I kept my sights set on the upper decks as Ella cleared the rail and followed after me.

  She crouched low behind the silo, then opened the case. She took out two bars of C-4 and a detonator the size of a golf tee. She handed them to me, then nodded at the two axles that connected the silo to the mount. If we took out either one of the axles, the giant armored structure would crash to the deck.

  Ella stuck the detonation trigger deep in her pocket, grabbed the rest of the C-4, then started climbing the starboard silo. I checked the coast was clear, then crept across to the port side silo.

  I stared up at the silo’s heavy armored plating. I found a finger-hold and began scaling the riveted panels and cable housings. I stayed on the ocean side of the mount, hiding myself from any prying eyes on the upper decks. Twenty feet up, I secured my foot against the launch tubes, then started packing the soft explosive into one of the axles – deep into the thick cogs in the mount. I sunk a detonator into the C-4 just like Geary had shown me, then gently twisted its head until a green light blinked once. It was armed.

  Ella darted over to the base of the silo below me. As I crept back down, I kept my eyes on the main entrance to the upper decks – a black glass door, maybe fifteen feet tall. It was a good bet that Lizzie and Marcus were somewhere just beyond it. But it was the main door – it was going to be safer to head down into the hull and work our way up.

  I scanned the deck as I stepped off the silo. Beside the helicopter pad was a stairwell that headed down into the hull. I knelt down beside Ella and signaled in the direction of the stairwell. She nodded. We’d take out the silos once we’d grabbed the Bragers, but until then, stealth was going to be our best ally.

  W
e kept low, darted through the shadow of the helicopter, then down the stairwell. A white metal hatch stood at the bottom. As Ella grabbed the handle, I aimed my pistol – the nerves buzzing in me. I glanced at Ella, then signaled that I was ready. She gently turned the handle and pulled the hatch open.

  A gently lit corridor on the other side. Black marble walls that opened up into an Art Deco styled room just ahead of us. Sleek chrome trim and curved black sofas – chandeliers of glowing ellipsoids hanging from the ceiling. Quiet – just a distant electrical hum. As Ella closed the hatch, I swung inside the room, my finger fixed to the trigger as I checked the corners.

  On the far side lay another passageway – the dark marble walls leading to a T-junction maybe twenty feet from the room. Ella kept her gun aimed behind us as we crept over to it. I slowly leaned my head around the junction corner. To our right, was a smoked-glass staircase heading down. At the bottom I could just about make out rows of black, chrome-trimmed doors – each one numbered. Crew quarters, maybe. To our left, a narrow corridor led to another corner maybe thirty feet away. I raised my gun and darted over to it. I peered around the corner and down a main passageway that disappeared into the distance. Too little light to see what lay at the other end, but it was a good bet that it would take us below the upper decks. I glanced at Ella – she nodded.

  We crept down the passageway, edging silently past rows of photographs hanging from walls – all of them depicting the same event. Eclipses of the sun. Norway, June 30th 1954. Indian Ocean, October 23rd 1976. Images of brilliant rings and black skies. We crept further along, scanning the perpetual twilight ahead of us for any CCTV cameras. I then stopped. I could hear muffled voices. Footsteps approaching one of the doors further down the passageway. Ella nodded toward a narrow corridor branching off to the right just ahead of us. As we ducked into the corridor, I heard a door open out in the passageway. The crisp rap of shoes on the marble floor – heading toward us. I stared around the narrow corridor – it was a dead end – just a single door in the wall beside us. I stared at a plaque beside the door, trying to gain some sense of what was on the other side – it was written in Norwegian. I gazed at the words, but they shed about as much light as birthday candles on a black hole. The footsteps were getting closer – fuck it. I glanced at Ella, readied my gun, then pushed the door open.