by A. G. Taylor
“Just the administrative areas of my empire. Offices mainly. Some research labs. Boring to young persons such as you. I think you’ll find the upper levels of the tower much more fun. Is that acceptable?”
Makarov held Sarah’s gaze as he asked this.
“Sure,” she replied. “We’ll try to keep out of trouble.”
The Russian gave them a little bow. “Until later.”
As he departed, Alex looked at Sarah. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t mean that?”
Rachel Andersen groaned as the intercom on the other side of her cabin blared. Pushing herself off the bed she had collapsed into less than an hour before, she staggered across the gently swaying floor and pressed the speak button.
“Andersen.”
“We’ve got Nikolai Makarov on the line, sir,” Lieutenant Kaminski answered through the speaker. “Online link-up in the communications room.”
“I’ll be there in five,” Rachel replied, cutting the comm.
She dressed quickly and exited her cabin, taking the stairs up three levels. Halfway to her destination, however, she felt her stomach turn over and a wave of nausea rise. She dashed to the nearest exterior door and threw it open. Steeling herself against the blast of cold air, she rushed out onto the deck of the aircraft carrier. Finding the railing at the edge of the deck, she leaned over and looked down at the dark, swirling water of the Pacific Ocean, over thirty metres below. Thankfully, the feeling of seasickness that had plagued her since her arrival on the HS Ulysses began to subside.
“Are you okay, sir?” a concerned voice asked. She turned to see a kid in an orange jumpsuit – a member of the flight deck crew. He looked barely old enough to drive a car, let alone service fighter jets.
“Fine. Just getting a little fresh air. Carry on.”
The kid saluted and walked off towards the double row of hovercopters sitting on the edge of the deck. Taking another deep breath, Rachel looked back across the wide expanse of the deck, which formed a massive, seaborne landing strip. Currently the Ulysses, HIDRA’s mobile base in the Pacific, was heading through quiet waters, but Rachel still hadn’t found her sea legs. With one final breath of briny air, she headed back into the ship and carried on down the corridor to a door marked Communications Room.
Kaminski stood as she entered the room – which was wall-to-wall computers and comm gear. He indicated a computer showing a blonde woman in a link-up window – Nikolai Makarov’s personal secretary.
“Mr. Makarov is ready to speak to you now, Colonel,” said the blonde woman as Rachel took her seat. She had a strange, flat way of speaking that Rachel found a little disconcerting. But she soon forgot about that when Makarov appeared on her computer screen. Even through the slightly pixelated link-up image his eyes were magnetic.
“So good to finally speak to you, Dr. Andersen,” he said with an accent like syrup. “Or is it Colonel?”
“Colonel officially,” she replied, “but I prefer Dr. Good to speak to you too, Mr. Makarov. It’s a shame you never answered my calls when the meteorite struck in your region six months ago.”
Makarov held up his hands apologetically. “Forgive me. As you can imagine, I was busy at the time, coordinating the clean-up efforts. Although the meteorite was small, it caused considerable damage to one of our copper mining operations. Thankfully there were no casualties.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “And no trace of the fall virus either?”
“Luckily, no,” Makarov replied.
“Well, our tracking station suggested that the meteor entered our solar system on the same trajectory as the virus-infected Australian and South American meteorites. That’s why HIDRA was so eager to get access to the site—”
“I am quite happy to allow you access to the area,” Makarov interrupted, much to Rachel’s surprise. For six months HIDRA’s requests to visit the strike site had been rebuffed – first by Makarov’s spokespeople in Washington and then by the Russian government. He had friends in powerful places.
“When would your people like to arrive?” Makarov went on, his dark eyes showing some animation for the first time. “I could have the area ready for your inspection in say…three days?”
Rachel gave no reply. She had the distinct feeling that the man was mocking her. More than that, after months of evasion, his sudden decision to let them in was perplexing. Three days. The estimated time until the next meteorite strike. Is it possible he knows? she wondered.
“Well?” Makarov pressed. “Don’t tell me you have something more important to do.”
Somehow he knows about the new meteor, Rachel thought. It was just an instinct, but she was absolutely certain she was correct. In the video window, a smile flickered across Makarov’s lips and she had the same feeling she did around Sarah Williams – that her thoughts were an open book to this person.
“I’ll prepare a research team,” she lied to him – at such a critical time she had no intention of wasting resources on a strike site that was over half a year old.
Makarov bowed his head. “Very good. I’ll be pleased to host your people during their stay in Chukotka. Please talk to my PA about the arrangements. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“There’s just one more thing,” Rachel said, clicking her mouse to send the image of the jet from the Melbourne airport to Makarov’s computer. “Have you seen this plane before?”
A micro-expression of annoyance flashed across Makarov’s face, before he shrugged his shoulders casually. “I can’t say I have. However, the picture quality is rather poor. Why is it of interest to you?”
“It’s a private jet fitted with stealth technology,” she continued. “It was involved in the suspected kidnapping of several virus-altered children in Melbourne yesterday.”
“Kidnapping?” he exclaimed. “How awful.”
“The logo on the side looks like yours,” Rachel said. “That’s the Makarov Industries M, isn’t it?”
“Hard to see, really. You’re not suggesting that jet belongs to me, are you? I admit that I have the know-how and means to build such a plane, but why would I put my company logo on the side? Not very…stealthy…is it?” He chuckled at his own joke.
Maybe because you’re a complete show-off, Rachel thought to herself, but said, “We just wondered if you might have developed such a jet for a third party.”
Makarov shook his head sadly. “Afraid not. Were these children under your care?”
“You could say that,” she replied.
“Then it’s a shame you didn’t keep a better eye on them, isn’t it? There are plenty of unscrupulous people out there who would just love to get their hands on a bunch of kids with superhuman powers.” A smile flickered across his lips. “Some of them used to work for HIDRA, or so the papers say.”
Rachel ignored the reference to Major Bright. “So, you don’t know anything about the children or the plane?”
“No,” Makarov sighed, as if the conversation was getting boring. “But I do have contacts in the aerospace industry. Why don’t I ask around and get back to you in—”
“Three days?” Rachel interrupted, anticipating his words.
Makarov grinned. “You read my mind, Colonel. It was a pleasure to finally speak to you. I hope we get the chance to do so again.”
“Oh, you can be sure of it,” Rachel replied as she killed the video feed and looked across the table to where Lt. Kaminski sat at another computer. “Well?”
“The voice analyser shows a stress spike when you sent him the image of the plane,” the lieutenant replied, “but apart from that it didn’t pick up any unusual patterns. He’s a pretty cool customer, sir.”
“Too cool for someone who was just told he’s suspected of kidnapping,” Rachel replied.
“Are you really going to send a scientific party as he suggested?” Kaminski asked.
“No. We have more important things to worry about right now. What’s the news on the new meteor?”
“The current estimate is i
t’s going to come down somewhere on the west coast of America, possibly in the Los Angeles area,” Kaminski said. “However, the Philippines station is reporting something strange about the meteor signal. Some kind of interference surrounding it, like there’s a larger mass out there. They’re running scans.”
“All we can do is get close to ground zero when it hits,” Rachel replied. She didn’t want to think about the destruction that would be caused if the meteor did indeed strike in the middle of an urban area – it would be like detonating a nuke. “Keep me updated on any developments. Makarov can wait.”
Rachel knew that heading east was the right thing to do, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Makarov was connected to the disappearance of the children. And she was sure he knew about the new meteor somehow. Her stomach turned again and she closed her eyes with a groan.
“I’ll get the bucket, sir,” Kaminski said and went running.
20
The next morning, Sarah sat on a couch positioned in front of the east-facing windows on the 150th floor. She had her knees drawn up to her chin and she was deep in thought, staring out over the empty expanse of snow. A couple of times through the morning haze she fancied she saw a flash of blue on the horizon – the sea – but perhaps it was just her imagination. Her mind was full of thoughts about what they had left behind in Australia: their father, Daniel…Rachel Andersen and HIDRA…Major Bright. The thought that Bright was most likely in custody was the only thing that brightened her mood.
So engrossed was she in these reflections that she didn’t sense Alex approach from the lift until he was standing right behind her.
“Did you want something?” she asked, without looking round.
“Nestor and the others are going to the pool,” Alex replied. “We wondered if you wanted to join us.”
“No thanks.”
Alex gave an exaggerated sigh. “Just what is your problem? Are you so disappointed that Makarov turned out to be one of us?”
“That’s yet to be seen,” Sarah answered sharply.
“Oh, you’d just love him to be the bad guy, wouldn’t you? That’s why you want to go sneaking around on the 90th floor, to try to find something incriminating.”
Sarah looked round at him for the first time. “You and the others might be prepared to accept Makarov’s story at face value, but I’m not.”
“Will you listen to yourself?” Alex said firmly, moving round to block her view. “You’re so desperate for a fight. No one says we have to stay here for ever, but at least the others haven’t forgotten how to enjoy themselves.”
“I have to look after them,” Sarah snapped back, rising from her seat to challenge him. “They might have forgotten what happened at HIDRA, but I haven’t. I’m—”
She stopped talking as the lift doors opened and the tall figure of Makarov stepped out, closely followed by Balthus. The red eyes of the robowolf scanned the room intently as it entered.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Makarov said, placing a slender hand on his heart. “Have I disturbed your privacy?”
“It’s okay,” Sarah said, shooting a look at Alex. “We were just talking about you, in fact. Back in Melbourne you told Alex something about a war coming. And about a cure for the fall virus.”
Makarov nodded seriously as he approached them. Balthus hung back, but never got more than a few metres from its master.
“Well?” Sarah pressed.
Makarov smiled at her. “I do admire your directness, Sarah. Six months ago, a meteorite contaminated with the fall virus crashed several kilometres from the Spire. It was too small to cause any serious damage, but several of the workers at my mining operation in this area were infected. Luckily the Spire has advanced medical facilities and I ensured they received the best possible treatment.”
“They’re still here?” Alex asked.
“Oh, no, no,” Makarov said. “Sent to a specialist hospital in Moscow, along with their families. I did, however, obtain several samples of infected blood before they were shipped out. I have been analysing these samples and am confident I am on the verge of a breakthrough.”
Sarah and Alex exchanged a glance. “You mean, you’ve almost found a cure?” she asked. “Why didn’t HIDRA tell us about this?”
Makarov chuckled and shook his head as if the statement was ridiculous. “HIDRA! They’re still stumbling around in the dark, I’m afraid. After some of the mistakes they’ve made, I’m surprised you trust them at all, Sarah. I don’t know what Rachel Andersen has told you—”
“You know Rachel?” she interrupted, but Makarov ignored the question.
“—but she is nowhere near finding a cure. I, on the other hand, am only days away from producing a serum that will awaken all of the sleepers.”
Sarah looked at Makarov. The thought of bringing Daniel back, along with the parents of the others, made her heart leap. Suddenly, more than anything in the world, she wanted to believe in Nikolai Makarov, but something in her heart just wouldn’t let her do it.
“We need to tell the world about this,” she asserted. “HIDRA has to know.”
Makarov’s face darkened. “I will not hear of it until I am completely ready.” He forced a smile that was more like a grimace. “Just a few more days. Then we will give this gift to the world. It’s not like we’re in any rush, are we?”
Sarah shrugged. “I guess not.”
“Besides,” Makarov continued, “you still haven’t seen all the surprises my home has to offer.”
“I call this the training zone,” Makarov announced as they stepped out of the lift onto the 117th floor of the tower later that day. It was part of his ongoing tour of the Spire and the entire group was assembled. “You all have unique abilities, but I’m sure each of you will find something here to test your powers.”
The room consisted of various cubicles and stand-alone rooms, marked with signs such as Mind-reading Development and Psionics. Wei ran over to a room marked Fire Zone and looked in through an observation window.
“Cool,” he whispered, casting a look over the assembled items within – boxes, sofas, stacks of hay. All eminently flammable. The walls were lined with heat-resistant padding.
Makarov walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Everything to keep a young fire-starter amused for hours.”
“Can I—” Wei began, but was interrupted by a slam from the far side of the room. As the group looked round, the sound came again. And again. Slam. Slam. Slam. A thirteen-year-old boy approached across the floor, bouncing a basketball expertly in his right hand. He was dressed in the uniform of one of the tower servants and had a thin, angular face framed by jet black hair swept back in a ponytail.
“Ah, Ilya,” Makarov said. “Ilya is the only child from the Chukotkan meteorite strike to develop special abilities.”
Sarah shot him a look. “You’re keeping him here? What about his family?”
Makarov waved his hand dismissively. “Victims of the virus. I’ve been made Ilya’s guardian. I see so much of myself in him.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about him before?” Sarah said.
“Oh, so much to tell, so little time,” Makarov answered. He stopped speaking as Ilya broke into a run towards them, ponytail flying. The boy threw the basketball with both hands. It arced through the air, dropped cleanly through a hoop set into the wall high above their heads and bounced back into the boy’s hands. With that, he turned and walked casually over to where they were standing. His blank expression did not change one iota as he looked over the newcomers.
“Say hello to our guests, Ilya,” Makarov ordered.
“Hello, guests.” His voice was flat. The uniform wasn’t the only thing he shared with the tower workers – the emotionless demeanour reminded Sarah of the women.
“What’s his special power?” Octavio asked, looking over the kid’s ponytail with a sneer. “Hair styling?”
Ilya narrowed his eyes at the other boy and held up the spinning basketball on a single finger,
showing some life for the first time.
“Now, now, there’s no need for that,” Makarov warned the boy gently, placing a hand on his head. “Octavio has telekinetic powers like you – he can move things with his mind alone. Why don’t you show him what you can do, Ilya?”
The Russian kid turned his blank eyes from Makarov to Octavio and smiled for the first time. “Let’s try some target practice. If you think you can handle a little competition.”
“Do your worst,” Octavio hissed in reply as the pale-skinned kid led the way to a rectangular building in the far corner of the floor.
“We can watch from above,” Makarov announced as Octavio and Ilya entered through a set of sliding double doors. He took a set of steps up the side and the others followed. At the top they found a clear roof, designed for observation of the area below, which looked like an indoor tennis court. A rectangular playing area was marked out on the floor and divided into two halves, coloured red and blue. A yellow line divided the two sections from one another. Around the area, metal barriers about a metre in height stuck out of the floor, slanted at forty-five degree angles. The sides of these barriers bore impact marks, as if objects had been thrown against them repeatedly.
Sarah leaned over the railing and looked down as the two boys entered the court and took places at either end of the room – Ilya in the blue zone, Octavio in the red.
“What is this?” she asked Makarov.
“A testing ground for psionics like Ilya and Octavio,” Makarov replied. “A kind of target practice game.”
“You built all this for Ilya?” Sarah asked, looking around the other training areas.
Makarov shook his head. “Of course not. I always knew there would be more people like me in the future, such as you and your friends. I guess you could say this is the very first school on earth for people such as ourselves.” He touched the communicator on his shoulder. “Computer, give us fifty discs. Random dispersal.”
In the room below, Ilya bounced from one foot to another and rubbed his hands together as if in anticipation of action, although his blank eyes showed little sign of excitement. Octavio looked up at the others from his group and shrugged. In the centre of the room a black cylinder rose out of the floor and began to spin rapidly, emitting a whirring noise.
