Armageddon Heights (a thriller)

by D. M. Mitchell

  ‘Go fuck yourself, Villiers,’ Napier said.

  ‘Is that the best a man like you can manage? I‘m disappointed in you.’ He pointed the gun at Melissa. ‘But this woman – this woman I’m impressed with! She might have been a physical wreck, but inside here,’ he said, prodding her forehead with the gun, ‘she was very much alive and kicking. You saw that, didn’t you? You helped her to verbalise what was in her head through the use of one finger and a little technical wizardry. You told her what her uncle was doing to the company, how he was twisting it to suit his own personal ambitions, turning it into something Jeremy Lindegaard would have been horrified to see.’

  ‘What is it you want, Villiers?’ said Napier. ‘The sound of you blowing your own trumpet is starting to make me want to puke.’

  ‘Between you, you decide to resurrect CSL. Melissa here, with a small team to help her – poor Doctor Sanderson being one of them – designs new software to make unofficial incursions into the Heights, wile you access tremethelene supplies and help override firewalls from inside the organisation, thereby keeping one step ahead of Lindegaard all the time. CSL nips in under Lindegaard’s nose and steals away Sentients, taking them to a safe place within the Heights called Erewhon, with the intention, if I’m not mistaken, of not only saving them, but using their collected existence as undeniable proof of sentience when the right time came, thus bringing about the end of Armageddon Heights as a game, just like Melissa and her father had wanted. And the mysterious Charlie Sharland – well, what can I say? Everyone thought he was real. Even me.

  ‘Meanwhile a thorough investigation on your part into the bogus convictions of CSL members had you convinced beyond doubt that it was Dale Lindegaard who had Melissa and her father shot. I can’t blame you for wanting revenge. Who wouldn’t?’ he said, admiring the gun. ‘You want him stone-cold dead, and Melissa is dying, is she not? How long has she got to live? Weeks, months, days? What a pity,’ he said. ‘So as soon as she’s dead your plan was to kill Lindegaard. Am I right?’ He moved toward Napier. ‘Does she know? Did you tell her that it was her own uncle that ordered her murder?’

  Napier shook his head. ‘She doesn’t know. She’ll never know. She loved him too much.’

  ‘What if the police find you?’ said Villiers. ‘What if you don’t get away with it?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I don’t really care what happens to me.’

  ‘Don’t give me that shit about your life not being worth living without the woman you love. Jesus, Napier! I thought you were better than that!’ He strode round Napier to stand at the door again, Jungius behind him as immobile and as expressive as a slab of granite. ‘You could be a very, very rich man. You see, I don’t want to kill you. I could have had that done straight away. But that would have been such a waste. That would be senseless. We can both come out of this smelling of roses. Melissa will get all the care she needs in her final days, I can swing it that Dale Lindegaard will meet whatever grisly end you so desire, and you, as his number two, will probably slip into his place and take the company reins. In return all we ask is that you steer the company round to selling out to my company, or at the very least throw a few vital trade secrets our way, and as a result you’ll be sitting pretty for the rest of your days. How does that sound?’

  ‘And swap one murdering despot for another?’ sniffed Napier.

  ‘That’s a little narrow-minded of you,’ said Villiers. ‘A businessman like you, as well. And this is purely business, nothing personal.’

  Just then they heard a buzzing sound. They both looked across at Jungius, whose meaty hand had gone to his pocket. He pulled out a phone.

  ‘Jungius! Really!’ said Villiers. ‘I’m in the middle of something important. Turn the blasted thing off. You’re ruining my moment.’

  Jungius offered a silent apology in the shape of a wrinkled nose, looked at the screen on his phone and hit a button, putting the phone away.

  ‘Now, where were we?’ Villiers said, frowning. ‘Ah, yes, my offer. The alternative, I’m afraid, is that both Melissa and you die, as will anyone else associated with your little CSL setup. We have the ability to locate and terminate every single one of them.’

  What took Napier by surprise was when Jungius swung his arm round so that his gun was aimed straight at the back of Villiers’s head. Villiers read the alarmed expression in Napier’s face, turned round and was at a loss to explain what he beheld. Jungius lowered the gun and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet slammed through Villiers’s chest, a tiny patch of red immediately opening up. He stood there, stunned, swaying a little, like a sapling in a breeze, looking from Jungius and the smoking gun to his chest. His hand went up to shakily explore the wound, then his eyes rolled white and he crumpled as if in slow motion to the floor.

  Napier, his eyes wide, body tensed, stared at the gun in the large man’s hand, expecting at any moment to have it turned on him. Instead, Jungius lowered it and stood to one side, away from the door.

  Dale Lindegaard strode into the room, his cream suit giving off a spectral glow in the dim light.

  ‘Looks like a butcher’s yard in here,’ he observed, looking about him. ‘Maybe wearing cream today wasn’t such a good idea,’ he said, careful not to tread in the scattered pools of blood on the floor. ‘Was he boring you, Robert?’ he asked. ‘I was listening to him for a long time outside. He was boring me. There again, he always did like to hear the sound of his own voice.’ He smiled at Napier’s obvious bewilderment. ‘Such a turnaround of events, eh, Robert?’ He nodded at Jungius. ‘He works for me, of course. But I suppose that’s plain to see. I know everything.’ Lindegaard walked up to Napier, gave a slow shake of his head. His white hair glistened like brushed steel. ‘What have you done to me, Robert? Eh? I trusted you, gave you position and power, and this is how you repay me. You betrayed me.’

  ‘You’re an animal, Lindegaard. You murdered your brother,’ Napier said,’ and you tried to kill Melissa. You did that to her!’ he said, pointing to the woman lying in the chair. ‘What did you expect from me?’

  ‘Ah, yes, Melissa. Your wife. That, I admit, did come as a complete surprise. Why? Why marry her? Villiers and I had at least one thing in common in asking that of you.’

  ‘You’ll never know…’ he returned, his eyes burning with hatred for the man.

  He offered a grunt. ‘I don’t want to know.’ He regarded Napier deeply. ‘So is it true you planned to kill me?’

  ‘And I still will, when I get the chance.’

  Lindegaard smiled thinly. ‘Sadly that chance will never come. I can’t let you live, you do know that, don’t you, Robert?’ He held out the flat of his hand to Jungius. ‘Ordinarily he’s very good at his job. He messed up when he failed to kill Melissa that day, but I’m assured that was a one-off.’ He took enjoyment from Napier’s reaction. ‘That’s right. It’s all falling into place now, isn’t it? He’s lucky he’ll get a second chance.’ He waved Jungius over and the man strode to hover menacingly over Melissa, his footsteps unusually light for such a big man, Napier thought.

  ‘What are you going to do? Leave her alone!’ Napier said.

  ‘Have you ever seen anyone die of a tremethelene overdose?’ Lindegaard asked icily. ‘No? If you take 10ml over the limit the effect is to die quite peacefully, maximum time ten minutes. Take 100ml over the limit and it’s not very nice at all. In the early days of its development we had two deaths during the initial trials. With a large overdose, the brain experiences a severe form of epilepsy, the body goes into manic convulsions – you would never believe the excruciating positions a body can get into until you witness it – and the pain! Oh the pain of it must be quite unendurable. But that’s not the end of it. The brain starts to melt. Literally turns to mush. Death takes five minutes. But it’s the worst five minutes anyone ever had to endure. So do you really want Melissa to die like that?’

  ‘Say what you want, Lindegaard,’ Napier breathed, watching as J
ungius put down his gun on the table near Melissa’s chair and casually filled a syringe from a glass bottle.

  ‘Tell me where Erewhon is and I promise Melissa’s death shall be quick and painless. Yours, too.’

  ‘I don’t know where it is. Only Melissa knows.’

  ‘You’re bluffing, Robert.’

  Jungius squirted fluid through the needle, took hold of Melissa’s arm.

  ‘I’m not. The only other people who knew the coordinates were those who helped her with the software development that helped isolate it, and they’re both lying dead on the floor over there.’

  Lindegaard scrutinised the bodies of Sanderson and his colleague. ‘Plausible. And so like Villiers to go in all guns blazing without thinking about it. You’re saying she didn’t trust you, her loyal, loving husband? I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘It’s the truth. It’s too valuable to share. Everything depends upon Erewhon being kept a total secret. You’ll never get to the Sentients, Lindegaard.’

  ‘I’ll find them one day. It’s only a matter of time,’ Lindegaard said. ‘And then this entire Sentient nonsense will be finished with and we can get back to business.’ He took out a handkerchief, swiped it across his forehead. ‘I’m offering you one last chance, Robert. If not for your sake then for the sake of Melissa: tell me where Erewhon is.’

  Napier hung his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But Melissa does.’

  ‘She’ll never tell you,’ Napier said firmly. ‘You know that. What can you do to her? She’s already close to dying. You’ll be finished very soon, Lindegaard, we’ve seen to that.’ And strangely Napier smiled. He saw the unsettling effect it had on Lindegaard. Napier turned to the equipment on the table. ‘You getting all this?’

  A voice crackled from the computer, high and tinny. ‘Getting it all loud and clear, Mr Napier.’

  ‘Visuals?’

  ‘Everything we need.’

  Dale Lindegaard stared daggers at the computer, realising his every word, everything that had happened within the room, had been captured on video.

  ‘You’re forgetting we have another team out there,’ said Napier. ‘I arranged to have the room monitored. I knew this is where it would come to a head. You’re finished.’

  Lindegaard swept up to the table and swiped his hand across it, sending the various pieces of equipment crashing to the floor. He stamped on the VDU with his foot and the screen gave a fizz and went blank. He kicked the scrambled mess of plastic and metal away with a loud scream of rage. His face assuming a blistering puce colour as he punched Napier in the stomach, the blow coming with unexpected force. It winded him and he clutched the point of contact. ‘I’ll find them!’ Lindegaard said. ‘I’ll find every last one of them and kill them! Give me the gun!’ he demanded of Jungius, and the silent wall of a man gave it to him. Lindegaard shoved the end of the gun’s barrel into Napier’s mouth. Then he slowly removed it. ‘No, that would be too easy. Jungius, give the hypodermic to Mr Napier here.’

  Napier glanced uncertainly at Lindegaard as Jungius held out the full syringe of tremethelene.

  ‘Inject her, Robert,’ Lindegaard ordered.

  ‘I will not!’ he said.

  ‘You think you have the better of me? You clearly don’t know me. I have power, Robert! Money buys power and influence. I’ll get out of this.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ said Napier evenly. ‘And you know it. You’re done for.’

  ‘Inject the bitch!’ he said. ‘I want to watch you kill her. I want to watch you suffer before I pull the trigger on you.’

  Napier shook his head. ‘You bastard, Lindegaard. Go ahead, kill me. I’ll never do that.’

  ‘Do you really want Jungius to do it for you? He can, but he’s not going to be half as considerate. He’ll administer the full syringe and you know the terrible effects that will have on her. It will be a slow, agonising death. However, if you do it, then you can give her enough to make her slip into sleep and die peacefully. The choice is yours.’

  ‘You’re sick, Lindegaard,’ Napier said. ‘You’re getting some kind of perverted pleasure out of this.’

  ‘Do it!’ Lindegaard ordered, the lids pulled back from his manic eyes.

  Jungius held up the syringe. A streak of light shot up its length as he moved it closer to Napier. Closing his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath, Napier took the syringe from Jungius, the liquid inside shimmering. Napier’s hand trembled.

  36

  Chilled to the Core

  She felt suddenly very faint, staggered a little, her shoulder crashing into the wall of the tunnel. Her legs were weak, and her vision blurred, the world spinning. She gave a soft moan and put a hand to her eyes, rubbed them.

  ‘You okay, Keegan?’ Wade asked, supporting her arm as she slumped down. ‘Keegan, you hear me? Are you okay? What’s wrong?’

  Something had happened up top, she knew that. A sudden glitch in the system. Caused by what? It unnerved her for a moment, but her senses gradually seeped back. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. She was seeing the world in black and white and it danced every now and again. But gradually the colour faded back in and her vision settled down, the strength returning to her legs. She pushed him away. ‘I’m fine, Wade.’ She couldn’t hide from his concerned expression. ‘Really I am.’

  ‘How far now?’

  Keegan sucked in a breath. They’d been fortunate in meeting little resistance along the way, Cain’s men being channelled towards the fighting with the Sentinels. They heard it clearly. It sounded like Lindegaard’s men were having a hard time of it. Her nagging worry was that they’d give up and pull out. She wanted one of their armoured personnel vehicles. It was their only way out of this place, providing secure transport across the Heights to Erewhon. By her reckoning, night was also due to fall soon, and with nightfall came the bonesnappers. As Wade said, the odds weren’t good. They couldn’t survive for long down here, and on the surface, without transport, they were dead meat, succumbing either to the intense cold or to the savagery of the night creatures. When she told him of her plan to commandeer one of the vehicles, he simply took in the information, digested it for a few seconds like any soldier facing odds he had no option but to take on, and nodded.

  She pushed open a door. It opened out onto a large, domed cave-like room, and they were suspended high above it on a crude narrow bridge made out of recycled metal and wire. It stretched one hundred yards or so across a vast chasm below them, cloaked in complete darkness, and they had no idea how far it fell or what lay at the bottom. Stalactites hung down from the roof of the cave like the decaying teeth of some mythical behemoth. Her voice echoed around the structure as she spoke.

  ‘Across the bridge, through the arch at the other end. We take the ladder up to the next level. We’ll find the room there.’

  They heard a series of deep growls interspersed with high-pitched shrieks that came from somewhere in the inky blackness under them.

  ‘What is that?’ Wade said.

  Keegan set off across the bridge. ‘You don’t want to know,’ she said, the bridge swaying to her urgent feet. ‘Nightmares you can only guess at. Come on, quickly. We have to get out before nightfall.’

  They reached a dead-end, a tall ladder stretching up a metal tube-like shaft into the unseen, beyond the dull light of a flickering oil lamp. Wade unhitched the lamp from its bracket. ‘I’ll go first. What will I find at the top?’ he said.

  There’s a trapdoor. It’s unlocked. But be careful. You never know what’s on the other side. If it’s clear we take a sharp left. The room should be off to our right. How are you doing for ammo?’

  ‘Down to my last clip of thirty rounds,’ he said. ‘A few bullets for your old rifle, and one rocket for the AT4. Not exactly an arsenal, is it?’

  They climbed up the ladder, the darkness ahead seeming to go on without end, their muscles aching by the time they finally reached the roof of the shaft and a round trapdoor some twenty minutes later. Wade glanced at
Keegan, readying his automatic rifle before reaching up and pushing the weighty trapdoor open a fraction. The tunnel seemed to be empty, so he clambered out, helping Keegan do the same.

  No sooner had they got their bearings in the gloomy light than shots rang out, the flashes of the explosions causing them to fall to the ground behind the inadequate cover of the trapdoor lid. Bullets sang as they pinged off the metal. Two Sentinels ran headlong towards them, lamps on their helmets giving away their positions. Wade doused the oil lamp and fired into the dark, and Keegan got off a few shots with the rifle. They heard one of the Sentinels dropping to the ground with a scream, the other backing off, firing blindly as he did so. But Wade’s next burst felled the second Sentinel and the passage dropped eerily quiet.

  They paused, breathing hard, the tunnel in almost total darkness save for the light of the dead Sentinel’s helmet lamp shining up at the murky ceiling. Wade dashed over to the body. The man had been hit in the head, blood pumping out of a hole just above his right eye. In no time at all, Wade had slipped the lamp off the helmet and shone it at Keegan as she found two hand grenades in the dead man’s pouches. She abandoned the old rifle and checked over the Sentinel’s automatic, checking the pouches for more bullet magazines and finding two.

  ‘We ought to check the other,’ she said.

  ‘No time,’ Wade said pointedly. ‘Let’s get going. There may be more on the way.’

  Rising to their feet they ran headlong down the corridor, checking out that the coast was clear before taking a sharp dogleg to their right. They heard gunfire echoing down the passages, but fortunately, the room wasn’t under guard.

  ‘Their attention is elsewhere,’ Keegan noticed, listening to the commotion not very far away.