‘I don’t know,’ Jack said. ‘Maybe he’s crazy. Do you think there’s anything in it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you know,’ Jack said, shrugging his shoulders, ‘do you think he might be right? Do you think the world follows cycles, and needs purging?’
Alyssa frowned. Did Jack believe it? She hoped not. ‘Listen, Jack, whether the earth needs purging or not, the premise of his beliefs is wrong. I mean, all these cults and sects, they’re saying these things because they think the earth itself is rebelling. Well, we’ve now got strong evidence to show that this just isn’t so. A lot of these recent strange events can be explained by the covert Spectrum Nine programme, whatever the hell it is, which was developed at HIRP. All of this “end of the world” nonsense will be killed off once we publish what HIRP is up to.’
Jack nodded his head, thinking it through. ‘I guess you’re right,’ he said eventually. ‘But you’ve got to admit, he makes a great case, doesn’t he?’
Alyssa had to agree. ‘He’s very persuasive, I’ll give him that. But at the end of the day, he’s wrong. And we’re going to prove it.’
‘We?’ he asked, and Alyssa was relieved when his serious expression broke into a smile.
Alyssa returned the smile, grateful hands finding his, holding them tightly. ‘Thank you, Jack,’ she said. ‘And I’m so sorry for getting you into this.’
He shrugged. ‘Hey, what’s done is done. And now I’ve got to help you if I don’t want to end up dead. But that means we’ve got some work to do. First we’ve got to find out what’s on that flash drive you’ve got.’
Alyssa nodded, just as the windows exploded around them in a hail of concentrated gunfire.
13
ANDERSON WATCHED WITH grim satisfaction as the front of the motel room was obliterated by the small-arms fire of his men. His assault team had nothing larger than a single tripod-mounted machine gun, but the assault rifles the rest of his soldiers carried were all set to fully automatic and were capable of terrifying levels of destruction on their own.
If the frontal attack didn’t kill them outright, if – by some small chance – they managed to survive and tried to escape through the rear windows, then a secondary team was there lying in wait for them.
After finding the empty glider, Anderson had almost lost hope; but he was not accustomed to failure, and would keep going until his mission was complete.
It hadn’t been hard to figure out where they’d go from the crash site; the next town was less than a mile away. Anderson had already tagged Alyssa Durham’s credit cards and he knew as soon as she used one. They’d missed her in town by bare minutes.
Interviews at the local transport hubs had revealed where they were headed soon after, and Anderson had immediately scrambled a helicopter from the base to follow the bus.
Conscious that the chopper could be overheard by his prey, Anderson ordered the pilot to fly high and use infrared and optical recording equipment to monitor the vehicle below. The footage was relayed directly back to Anderson, who followed from a distance, loaded up with his men in a convoy of jeeps and SUVs.
He watched a live feed as Durham and Murray got out of the bus and hitched a lift east, saw them eventually get out of the car at the motel, and Durham go into reception while Murray waited outside. He even saw which room they both went into.
He was on the scene not long after, and had spent the next hour setting up the operation. He spoke to the guy at the front desk, who then went door to door to the rest of the rooms, asking everyone to vacate the property, while Anderson’s men positioned themselves for the assault.
The owner wasn’t there, but Anderson called to explain the situation, and although he could tell the man wasn’t happy, Anderson had given him no choice; besides which, the federal government would cover the cost of repairing the man’s business.
The young guy working there had shut himself in reception ever since the shooting started, wanting to dissociate himself from the whole affair. Anderson couldn’t blame him really; he knew it was going to be messy.
Alyssa pulled Jack to the floor as soon as the first rounds started flying, huddling close to him, trying to flatten herself on the ground as much as physically possible. It brought back instant, fear-inducing memories of full-scale attacks back in the Middle East. But she remembered the advice of the troops she had been shadowing, how she should try and push herself so low it seemed as if she was going through the floor.
As they waited there, heads down and breathless, her mind was racing. The fire all seemed concentrated to the front of the room. Which left—
‘The rear?’ Jack asked, panic all over his face. ‘Maybe we could try and get out of the rear windows?’
Alyssa shook her head. ‘No. That must be what they want us to do, they’ll have soldiers out there waiting for us.’
‘What then?’
Alyssa could see that Jack was on the verge of losing it, and she couldn’t really blame him; she had felt much the same the first time she had experienced heavy gunfire. Although back then at least she’d had armed soldiers protecting her. Here, they were on their own. She didn’t even have clothes, having left the bathroom in a towel and a robe.
Think, Alyssa, she ordered herself. Think!
‘What’s that?’ Jack asked, pointing across the floor. Alyssa followed his gaze, and saw what he’d noticed. From this perspective, so low down, she could see that the room’s rug was pulled back at the corner, and underneath it . . . Yes!
‘Trapdoor,’ she said.
She knew that in climates where the winters were very cold and the summers quite hot, buildings could sink into the ground when the frost thawed. Many structures were therefore supported on stilts to give some ground clearance, and a space for the building to ‘settle’ in such conditions. She hadn’t realized that the motel had this, as the raised portion was disguised from the front by a wraparound veranda. She could only hope that Anderson and his men didn’t know about it either, and that the motel owner hadn’t told them.
‘Stay here,’ she whispered to Jack, crawling low across the floor to the foot of the bed. She took a deep breath, summoning her courage to raise a part of her body into the firing line, and quickly shot an arm up towards the bed, pulling down her jeans and blouse in one swift movement. The clothes weren’t entirely necessary, but the flash drive was in her trouser pocket, and that really was essential.
Clothes in hand, she gestured towards the trapdoor. Jack nodded, and started moving towards it, wood and glass showering him as he went. Alyssa was right behind him, saw as he pulled the rug up and tugged at the trapdoor. At first it resisted, but then it swung wide open. By the time she got there Jack was already through, and he helped guide her down after him.
She tried to position the rug over the door in such a way that it would fall naturally when it was closed, and slammed it shut over them.
Beneath the room, they had enough space to stand hunched over, and Alyssa quickly discarded her robe and put her clothes on. Once dressed she patted her pocket to confirm the flash drive was still there, and then motioned to Jack to move.
The ground was freezing cold under Alyssa’s bare feet, and she could see that Jack was suffering too, although at least he had socks on. The crawl space was dark, only faint light from the roadside neon sign filtering through cracks in the wood.
They were out of the room, but they still had to get away, and they would have to do so with no jackets or boots, in a sub-Arctic winter, with a team of cold-blooded killers on their tail. The trapdoor wouldn’t stay hidden forever. Sooner or later, when they hadn’t appeared out of the rear window, Anderson would order a ceasefire and send his troops in to find their bodies. The hidden crawl space would be discovered soon after.
She thought back to the layout of the motel. The reception was on the far west end of the complex, round the horsehoe, past all the other rooms. She wondered if the cold, dark crawl space would take them all the way th
ere.
‘Come on, Jack,’ she whispered urgently, moving past him and pulling him along, ‘we need to move quickly. I think I’ve got a plan.’
‘Cease fire!’ Anderson ordered after five minutes of fully concentrated fire. The team at the rear hadn’t reported any activity, which meant that Durham and Murray must still be inside. And if they were still inside, they were dead. ‘Section one, move in.’
The motel room was almost entirely destroyed, and the interior lights could be seen clearly through ragged holes in the thick wooden walls. All the windows were completely gone, and Anderson wouldn’t have been surprised if the structure was so weakened that it would collapse altogether in the not too distant future.
He watched from the shadows as his first eight-man section approached the front door cautiously. They expected the fugitives inside to be dead but their training made them inherently careful when it came to approaching the unknown.
They reached the door and Anderson watched as one soldier kicked it open and a pair of men swept into the room from one side, followed by another pair from the other.
There was silence for several long, uncomfortable moments as the section searched the room. Come on, Anderson said to himself. Come on!
His earpiece buzzed, and his hand went straight up to cut out the extraneous noise. ‘Sir,’ the report came through, and the nervousness in the man’s voice told Anderson everything before he said another word. ‘They’re not here.’
The trapdoor to reception was situated in the back office, which was empty. Alyssa and Jack levered themselves out of the crawl space, shivering with cold.
Jack pointed to some coats hanging on the wall, and they slipped them on. There was one pair of boots, far too big for Alyssa but which fitted Jack just fine.
Alyssa pushed the office door slightly ajar and saw the reception desk right in front of her. The man she’d spoken to earlier in the evening was vainly trying to use the computer and make calls, frantically checking the connections. Obviously the lines had been cut.
Jack waited behind her as she crept forward, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. She noticed that there was a revolver strapped to the inside of the desk – there in case of an attempted robbery – but the man was completely wrapped up in figuring out what was wrong with his electronics.
Within seconds she was right behind him, her first two fingers pushing gently into his back like the barrel of a gun, hand round his mouth. ‘Make a sound and I’ll shoot,’ she whispered in his ear, and she watched as his hands comically went straight up into the classic position of surrender.
Jack raced past her, grabbed the real gun from the desk and aimed it at the young man’s head. Alyssa moved past him, blowing imaginary smoke from her fingertips.
The man rolled his eyes to the ceiling, his arms coming down with sagging shoulders. ‘OK,’ he said quietly. ‘What do you want?’
Anderson watched as the car approached from the rear lot, and he flagged it down, seeing the receptionist at the wheel.
The man rolled down the window. ‘The boss is coming in,’ he said to Anderson. ‘He says he doesn’t want me round here any more, wants me to go home. And . . . I’d really like to go, please.’
Anderson could see the man was scared. He was just a civilian, not used to anything like this. He didn’t blame him in the least.
‘OK,’ Anderson said. ‘But if you say anything about this, I know where you live, and we will come and see you. Do you understand?’
The man nodded his head frantically, and Anderson smiled. ‘Good. So we understand each other.’
He watched the man nod his head again, and wondered if he was about to soil himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen someone do it, just from a threat.
‘Thanks,’ the man said weakly, and drove away from the shattered motel on to the deserted road beyond.
‘Good job,’ Alyssa said from the passenger footwell of the vehicle, where she’d lain hidden, the revolver pressed up into the receptionist’s crotch.
She removed the gun, hearing a genuine sigh of relief as she did so, and slid up into the passenger seat just as Jack emerged from the rear footwell on to the back seat.
Alyssa felt sorry for the guy but it had been their only way out. He was never in any real danger though; she would never have used the weapon on an innocent man.
As she watched the empty road open out before her, she wondered how long it would be before Anderson realized that the boss wasn’t coming into work and that the receptionist had just escaped with two high-value fugitives in his car.
She hoped it would be long enough.
‘What do you mean the chopper can’t fly?’ Anderson demanded.
‘Weather’s taking a turn for the worse,’ the pilot replied. ‘Going to be coming down hard. I need to get back to base before I’m stranded here.’
Anderson put down the radio, his anger threatening to erupt. But he kept it inside, holding it tight, controlling himself. He needed eyes in the sky but it looked like this just wasn’t going to be an option.
He’d finally put it all together, and was furious with himself for allowing them to pass out of the area right in front of him. Durham and Murray had at least twenty minutes’ head start on them, which would be hard to get back, especially if the weather was going to get worse like the pilot thought.
There was another option, though, Anderson thought as he reached reluctantly for the radio and asked to be put through to the local highway patrol.
‘That’s a roadblock up ahead,’ the motel receptionist said fearfully, already letting up on the accelerator.
‘Ram it,’ Alyssa instructed, having already seen it. It was just two cars, and driving right through it was undoubtedly their best option.
‘I’ll put my belt on,’ Jack said, sitting back quickly into his seat.
But the fear was too much for the car’s already nervous driver, and in a fit of panic he wrenched the wheel sideways, pulling the car across both lanes of the highway.
In the back, Jack had still not managed to put his belt on and sailed into the door, which sagged open. The car hit the kerb hard and the man pulled the wheel again, and then the door flew open completely. Jack spiralled out across the roadside, finally rolling to a stop in the snow.
One of the police cars was already heading towards them with four armed officers inside it. Alyssa whipped the revolver across the receptionist’s head, knocking him out cold. With his feet still on the pedals, she turned the steering wheel across the other way, pulling the damaged vehicle back on to the highway.
She looked out of the window, saw that Jack had regained his feet and was heading away into the treeline, trying to lead the police away from her. He turned to her, the police car now between them. ‘Get going!’ he called. ‘I’ll see you back home, at the café in the picture in my office!’
And then he was gone, legs pumping through the snow, away into the trees, the cops moving in towards him from the other side.
With Jack gone, Alyssa dragged the unconscious man from the driving seat and took his place, gunning the engine and accelerating hard towards the roadblock’s remaining police car.
Seconds later she was through, leaving the other vehicle spinning in her wake, her own car severely damaged but still going, and as the cops opened fire behind her, she pressed the pedal even further, accelerating away from the scene.
She could only pray that she would see Jack again.
Oswald Umbebe’s pain was back, sharper than ever. And yet it seemed a blessing in its way, keeping his mind sharp, his appreciation for life vital. He pushed his medicine to one side, untouched.
He was a busy man, dealing with every aspect of his operations. He had followers in every nation, and their preaching – on the streets, in the few churches they owned, even on television and the internet – had to be guided, moulded, in the way he wanted. They were priests of the order but they still required guidance, especially now as the flock grew and grew wit
h every passing day. Since the statue had moved, millions of believers had been recruited into the Order of Planetary Renewal. Umbebe knew it would do them no good physically – everyone was still destined to die – but at least they would understand why, and this would give them comfort in their last moments. They would see themselves as self-sacrificial martyrs, not helpless victims, and this would make all the difference to them. Instead of fear, they would feel joy.
And there were still many other aspects of his work he needed to keep on top of – intelligence briefings, reports from his agents around the world, which required him to modify and adapt his various plans.
He coughed up a little blood as the phone rang, and wiped it away with a handkerchief as he answered.
He remained silent as he listened to the report from the other end of the line. He had seen the news stories, of course, but this was further confirmation, what he had been waiting for: the weapon was ready, and the next phase of his plan could finally be put into operation.
But then came the bad news, and Umbebe listened as the caller explained what else had happened. He was silent for several long, painful moments as he digested what he heard. It was damaging, yes, that much was true. But the situation was perhaps still salvageable. His keen mind worked things out in instants, and he described the new plan to the caller. As always, improvisation was everything.
He replaced the receiver and smiled.
It was the smile of a man who knew that victory was just around the corner.
14
BY THE TIME Alyssa got back to the city, she was exhausted both mentally and physically.
She’d had to abandon the car eventually, and had then hitch-hiked her way southwards, a laborious and painful journey made worse by her justifiable paranoia that Anderson and his men could be waiting for her at any stage.
She was also unable to use her ID or credit cards, and after buying a cheap pair of shoes had to rely on the meagre cash she had left to feed herself snacks on the way. Until the last driver, at least. The woman had been so understanding towards Alyssa’s invented story of fleeing from an abusive husband that she’d gone straight to a teller machine and withdrawn a large sum of cash, pushing it into Alyssa’s hands, demanding that she take it.
Extinction Page 14
