by David Kernot
He glanced at Denna, and she smiled. He frowned. Who was she to be reading his int reports? This entire thing was getting weirder by the minute.
He glanced around the ancient brick walls of Henry the Eighth's Wine Cellar, empty but for the four of them. None of this was by chance.
"Why am I here, sir? It's not about wine."
The Knight Commander looked over to Philby. "Have you not briefed him into the program as yet?"
Philby shook his head. "I thought we would get proof of the object's existence. I need to examine it. If it is as you say, then he will be briefed. The General was clear about this."
The skin around the Knight Templar's eyes creased. "It is true what I say. The object is here, but I am not sure that those were the intentions of General Cobb when I spoke to him a short while ago. Is this some MI6 shift or something else?"
Denna stepped forward and took Emerson's hand, tugged it. He froze. He wasn't accustomed to people touching him. She pulled him toward her and led him away from the men. She sat on a stone bench and patted it next to her. "Sit and relax, Emerson."
He did and admired the ornate building.
"Sorry for touching you," she said. "I needed to let them sort something out."
"About me?"
"Kind of. You'll see."
"You read some of my reports?"
She grinned. "I read all of your reports, Emerson. I love how detailed they are. You have a gift in the way you can connect bits of information together and make assessments. General Cobb is very impressed."
"He's your boss?"
She nodded. "The General selected you."
"For what?"
She nodded. "Have you thought about what you will do after you leave Camp Holland?"
He sighed and shook his head. "I don't have a clue."
"Well, I think you could work in a dozen unique areas anywhere in the world and make a difference, so I wouldn't worry." She glanced at his prosthetic arm. "It wouldn't be an issue."
"We're ready." The Knight Commander stepped over, with Philby in tow. The Commander pulled out a small circular object from a pouch on his belt. He held it carefully, his fingertips wrapped around the edges of the device and strode over to a column of ancient narrow bricks, and knelt, moved the object slowly over the brick wall with his eyes closed. He stopped, rigid, opened his eyes, and smiled at Denna. "It is here. Exactly where the Templar's placed it." The Knight Commander removed a knife from his belt and prized it between the bricks. He cut a line all the way around the long brick and used the knife to lever it out from its century-old position. Bit by bit, the brick yielded, a little at first, and then gradually, it slid away from the wall until it fell onto the ground. The man reached into the black maw, "Got it." He pulled a cloth-covered object out.
Philby licks his lips. He stepped forward. "Let me see. I need to hold it."
"That is not possible. It stays wrapped and shielded." He turned to Emerson. "It is for the soldier."
Emerson's eyes widened, and he threw his head back. "Me? Why?"
Denna stepped forward and touched his upper arm. "It's what General Cobb wants."
She reached into an inner pocket of her jacket and pulled out an envelope. "You need to read this."
Emerson opened the envelope. It was a typed request from his CO with a formal posting notice effective immediately, that they moved him to the coalition fusion cell in Kandahar and that he was under the direct command of the US National Security Agency.
He faced Denna. "You work for the NSA?"
"There's a tight unit inside it run by General John Cobb. The Knight Commander is part of the General's team."
"What is it you do?"
Denna hesitated.
The Knight Commander answered for her. "We contain outbreaks of alien technology. Try to keep the Old Ones at bay for as long as we can."
Emerson frowned. It made little sense. He looked at their serious faces, and his jaw tightened. He threw his head back and laughed out loud for the longest time. But the posting order was legit. The signature of his CO out in Tarin Kowt was real, and their expressions didn't change.
He stopped laughing. It couldn't be real.
"We are preparing for the extinction of humankind, Emerson," said the Knight Commander.
"Not climate change?"
"I'm afraid not. From creatures in possession of unique technology. We need you to be part of our fight."
"Me?"
Denna stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Emerson, but we really have little time down here. I will have to order you to remove your prosthetic arm."
His lip curled. "Order me?"
She nodded.
He took a breath. "Why?"
"For the Ancient's device. We need to get inside it, to understand it."
She strode over to a large portable army footlocker, opened it, and removed a prosthetic forearm.
The Knight Commander strode over and reached inside it. He must have unclipped something because he unwrapped the silver cylinder object that was slightly longer than his hand and slid it inside the arm.
Denna took the prosthetic arm from him and walked over to Emerson. "We had this made for you. It's the best you can get for just under a million US research dollars. We've matched it as close to your skin colour, and the fingers and wrist move. It has a control pad and a high-tech screen. You'll have more mobility."
"But it has an alien device inside it?"
"Nothing is ever free in this world, Emerson," said the Knight Commander.
"Apparently not." It sounded impressive, and he wondered how they could have made something so perfect for him, but then he saw a scar on it and realised that it was a reverse of his right forearm and hand. Easy enough to collect from an airport body scanner.
The Knight Commander stepped forward. "There is a Faraday cage inside the arm, it's safe enough."
"Safe enough?" Emerson sighed. "All right, let's get it over with."
He stood and removed his shirt.
Denna grinned at him and moved closer. "Now you're just showing off." He didn't reply, but her eyes danced over his body. She handed him his new arm. It was lighter than he imagined. He turned away and removed his prosthetic arm, place it down on the ground beside him. It appeared chunky alongside the newer one. He fitted the new prosthetic. It was a tight fit, and the pressure on his elbow stump differed from what he was used to. Still, it didn't seem too bad. He moved it around in front of him. Definitely lighter. The fingers and wrist didn't flop around, so that was an excellent thing.
"The neoprene band near your elbow is temporary," said Denna. "Nanobots will eat it away after a few days, and it won't feel as tight."
"Nanobots?"
"Don't concern yourself, Emerson," said the Knight Commander, "but you must leave it on at all times. It is waterproof, so you can shower with it. Place your hand over the inside of your forearm. The body heat should expose the screen. It has a large computer inside it—"
"And an alien device, apparently." He felt good at repeating this.
The man smiled. "Yes. The screen will become second nature for you, and there is a contact-less interface for transferring information."
"What's in it at the moment?"
"Reading material," said Denna. "Information that will help you conduct analysis."
Emerson tried not to sound disappointed. "So I'm not a field agent. You don't want me out on the front line? I'm a back-office analyst."
"Oh, Emerson," Denna stepped closer and touched his shoulder. "There is nothing wrong with that. We have people who don't have the tech you do and believe me, it took some effort to create it."
He nodded, bent down to retrieve his shirt and pulled it back on, fought with the buttons. "Tell me how to move the fingers and wrist. Can it form a fist like this," Emerson showed her a Wing Chung Kung Fu fist, "or this?" He straightened his fingers and thumb, so his arm was like a sword blade.
She grinned and nodded. "It wasn't what I thought your first quest
ion would be, but, yes, it definitely can."
"Then thank you, it will be an improvement."
Philby stepped forward and looked at his watch. "We don't have this room for much longer. I must prepare for tomorrow's talk to your cohort. Take care of the contents of that arm, Emerson. If you like, it would be nice to catch up, just the two of us, before your return to the Middle East. Perhaps a drink downstairs in the Hilton tomorrow night? It's a favourite haunt for me." Philby offered his hand, and Emerson shook it.
"Yes, sure."
Emerson glanced at them briefly. "Well, unless there is anything else, I'd better get back, then."
"I'll take you," said Denna. "We have a team collecting your items from TK," said Denna walking next to him.
He noted her familiarity with abbreviated base names. She really had to be reading the Australian intelligence reports.
"You can fly direct to Kandahar when you go forward. Someone will meet you at the Flight Line on your arrival and get you settled. I'll email you my contact details, and we can catch up via a classified VTC link."
"What do I do meanwhile?"
The Knight Commander laughed before Denna could reply. "Relax and get accustomed to that new arm. If anything unusual happens, though, we want to know about it. Call me directly." He handed Emerson a business card.
He looked at it. Knights Templar is all it said with a cell phone number.
Emerson smiled. "Thank you, sir."
◆◆◆
The rest of the day had been quiet in comparison. Emerson became accustomed to the unfamiliar weight of his arm, and he sat and listened to the presentations and contributed to discussion for the remaining two hours of the day. As he departed the building, Philby, Denna, and the Knight Commander were nowhere to be seen. If it hadn't been for the arm, and some strange hidden object inside it, and his new posting orders, the entire thing might have been a dream. Weird was the only word that came to mind.
That night he stayed in his room and ate alone. Just as he climbed into bed to sleep, he placed his hand on his inner forearm, and true to his word, the area changed from flesh tone to an LCD-type grey. There were symbols at the bottom. Not quite what he expected. Would they tell him later how to use it, or was it up to him? For now, sleep called, and he rolled over. He thought of Amye, back home up in Stirling North, thousands of miles away in Australia. His ex-girlfriend. Yes, he still loved her, but that didn't count for much. But who knew that falling from a tractor on the farm would have opened up such a strange opportunity. Fighting for the end of the world. He chuckled. Not likely. Somewhat over-exaggerated.
◆◆◆
Chapter XI
Trafalgar Square, London, England
Colonel Andrew Stone had farewelled Dingo and Mav at a ramp ceremony in Bagdad. He'd stood with the rest of the Australian contingent and paid his respects as they carried their bodies up the ramp onto the aircraft taking them to their resting places home in Australia. Now, in London, there was one last thing he needed to do for them.
The Hilton girls would be long asleep, but Andrew knew that Philby liked to rise early during previous IED conferences. Huddled in the dawn light beside Trafalgar's statue in the center of London, he waited. Philby had been instrumental in their deaths, and now he would play a beggar's last tune.
Through Dingo's Kalashnikov rifle, he watched Philby exit the hotel. He dialled a number on his phone.
"Philby, it's Andrew Stone."
"Andrew, how are you?" Philby sounded surprised. "How did the mission go?"
"Oh, it went just fine."
He could see Philby stop and rub his head.
"Philby, how could you? What have I ever done to you?"
"I don't understand, old boy?"
"I didn't tell anyone but you about my destination. How could there have been anyone waiting?"
"I don't follow you, but I've got to go… they are calling me into a meeting right this second."
Philby threw his phone down on the ground and stomped on it. He looked around nervously and then turned and rubbed his head. Through the rifle's scope, Andrew could see the man looked troubled.
Andrew's lip curled in disgust when he remembered the results of Philby's actions. He pulled the trigger and watched Philby fall to the ground. He watched the blood pool around the man. That was for Dingo and Mav, two kind men who didn't deserve to die. He emptied the rounds from the rifle's magazine and placed them in his pocket. He wiped the weapon clean and leaned it up against the statue of Trafalgar.
Now it was over. He could go home. Giselle, who along with the lost people had been freed from the ancient device, was waiting for him back in Canada and they had a lifetime to catch up on.
◆◆◆
Chapter XII
Whitehall, London, England
Sergeant Emerson James Ash was enjoying the stream of sunlight that beamed through the window closest to him. Big Ben half framed the window, and he'd had a full view of houses of parliament out other windows during the course.
He looked forward to Philby's Intelligence life cycle briefing and how it contributed to the threat.
He waited while the other students fidgeted. Philby was an icon, known for his knowledge. Emerson glanced at his inert prosthetic arm. It had done nothing, and he was no closer to working out how to do anything with it. Well, if truth be known, he didn't want to do anything with it. He wanted it to be like his other prosthetic. Something to remind him of life's injustices. Of lost opportunities. Not the advantages of being less than human. He didn't want or need pity. He hated himself enough for ruining his life.
A man strode into the classroom. Not Philby. He was very official. Very succinct. Measured. He delivered an emotionless lesson, and at the end, after questions, he said. "Sergeant," and pointed to Emerson. "I need to speak to you."
"Me?"
The man nodded. Emerson stood and followed the man outside.
He sighed. "Can you tell me what you and Philby spoke about when you last met?"
"Why ask me? He spoke to everyone?"
"You were the last person he mentioned in his emails, since…"
Emerson frowned. "Since?"
"Can you answer the question, please? It is important."
Emerson thought about it. I got briefed about the end of the world. Of alien devices and fighting to survive. "We spoke about catching up for a beer at the Hilton bar in Trafalgar Square. Is it important?"
"Did he say anything else? Did he mention anyone else? Was he with anyone else?"
Emerson looked the man straight in the eyes and lied. "He had an assistant take me down the Wine Celler in the basement. I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but once we were alone, Philby offered me a job working with him here in England. twice, he'd said we should catch up, but I had never bothered. With the time zone, I'm still tired, and I have been taking advantage of the course to get some rest."
The man nodded. "I understand completely, Sergeant. I had a nine-month deployment to Bastion, and it was all I could do on my return. I also get the MI6 secrecy aspect of employment offers. It's good you've highlighted it, though."
"He didn't seem any different from the previous time we met if that's any help. It was a brief conversation, and if he had planned to say anything, I think it would be tonight."
The man scribbled more notes in his book, looked up, and tried to smile. "Thank you. Stay safe on your return," he said.
Emerson grabbed the man's arm. "What happened to Philby? He said he would give the brief last time we spoke." The man nodded and made another note. He looked deeply into Emerson's face. "Somebody assassinated him today, in the middle of Trafalgar Square with hundreds of people nearby. He'd dead, Emerson. And you were the last to speak with him."
Emerson's throat tightened. "He was a likeable guy. Why would anyone do that?"
"That's the question on everyone's mind. We are following every lead we can find."
Emerson sat down at a nearby chair. "Am I in any danger?"
> "I wouldn't think so, but I'd keep a low profile. I wouldn't go out in public. Blend into the crowd would be my advice, Sergeant, just in case."
Emerson nodded. He stood and shook the man's offered hand. Somehow he'd make his prosthetic arm work. For Philby's sake.
◆◆◆
Chapter XIII
Trafalgar Square, London, England
Andrew Stone sat in the Chandos pub close to the art gallery corner of Trafalgar Square with his wife, Giselle. "How are you," he asked her?
"I'm still getting accustomed to this unfamiliar world."
He laughed. "You and me both. I'm looking forward to heading back to Ottawa and showing you Canada. He smiled at her and ran his fingers down the side of her face. God, she was so beautiful. So precious to him. They were kindred spirits caught in another time. "Would you like an ale?" he asked. "Something very modern and English?"
"Thank you."
The bell on the door rang, and four, no five… six men strode in from outside. They were quiet. That was unusual. Almost sombre. Short, military style haircuts. They ordered pints and stood in a circle. Raised their glasses of beer. "Philby," one of them said. "To Philby," the rest echoed.
Andrew looked away from them. They were likely regular military associated with MI6. Philby might have been their friend, but he was not loyal to his country. Andrew glanced back to Giselle. "I'll get you that beer." He smiled and left her in the corner booth, looking outside at the frantic London evening traffic.
He ordered two beers and watched the man behind the bar pull on the handle and fill the first glass. "Sorry, I've got to change the lines. This one is on me, and I'll make sure that your lady's is right."
Andrew nodded. "Thanks."
One man from the small group strode over and stood next to him. "It's a good drop, worth the wait," he said, "but heady if you have drunk none for a bit."
