Trinity's Fall

by P A Vasey

The elevator doors swooshed open and we stepped out onto the fourteenth floor and followed the arrows down a long corridor, passing a couple of maids cleaning one of the rooms. There were tray tables on the floor covered with the detritus of last night’s room service, and newspapers hung from door handles in posh brown tote bags. We stopped outside 1425. The Do Not Disturb light was on the door control panel, and a similar instruction was hanging from the handle.

  Stillman knocked on the door, two loud impacts reverberating down the corridor. She put her hand into her handbag, and left it there, where I assumed she’d put her Glock. My heart started to hammer away and I felt nauseated again. There was no answer and I nervously looked at Stillman, who set her face and knocked again, harder. A few seconds later the door opened and Hubert stood there, resplendent in his hotel robe and slippers. His grey hair was askew, and he looked unshaven and as if he’d not been sleeping. His eyes flicked from Stillman to me and back to Stillman.

  “Jesus. Talk about a bad dream,” he rasped.

  “Can we come in?” said Stillman.

  His rheumy eyes fixed on me and a smile cracked his face. “Hello, Kate. I thought we’d lost you.”

  I nodded, my breathing coming easier. “You’ve no idea.”

  “Well, yes, come in … Excuse the mess, wasn’t expecting visitors.”

  He opened the door fully and stood back, waving his arm expansively into the room while pulling the robe tightly around his waist. Stillman went first, and I tentatively followed, checking over my shoulder. One of the maids in the corridor had stopped working and was watching us go in. As she saw me looking she quickly looked away and went back to her trolley.

  Anxiety joined Paranoia as my trusty sidekicks.

  The room was generously sized. There was a desk set with a couple of chairs on one side where Hubert had plugged in his laptop. A comfy-looking couch with a coffee table faced the TV, the table buried under a silver tray and the remnants of Hubert’s breakfast. The bed was unmade and the TV was showing muted CNN. There was a smell of coffee from the Nespresso machine on a shelf by the window. Bright sunshine poured in, and the view was tremendous, looking uptown along 5th.

  I sank into the couch and Stillman hovered for a few seconds before joining me. Hubert wandered over to the Nespresso machine and glanced over at us, saying, “Can I fix you a cup? Got a few choices here … lots of pods left over.”

  I nodded, almost without thinking. “That would be great, thanks. Anything caffeinated will do.”

  “Espresso? Colleen, you too?” He looked over at Stillman who shook her head, staring at the TV screen.

  “Anyone like something to eat? I can order room service …”

  My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, but I really hadn’t liked the look the cleaners had given us. Was I being overly suspicious?

  “Anyway then, Kate,” he began, pressing a couple of buttons and putting a purple pod into the hatch on the front, “I can’t wait to hear your news. Did you go on a ‘finding yourself’ kind of road trip after, well, you-know-what …?” He winked at me.

  I glanced across at Stillman, who raised her eyebrows, and actually was looking quite pissed off.

  “Finding herself?” she said. “You mean after the little matter of you dropping nuclear weapons on your own troops in order to kill the first alien encountered by humanity?”

  Hubert stopped what he was doing and froze. His head dropped and he slowly shook it before turning back to face us. “Colleen, I thought we’d been through that.”

  Stillman’s voice was like ice. “We talked about it, yes, and then you got me transferred out of your division. Remember?”

  “That wasn’t my doing. After my little problem it was thought that the division needed a shakeup as well. I was reassigned too.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What problem?” Stillman nudged me in the ribs, and I turned to her. “What? What am I missing?”

  Hubert walked over to the couch and perched on the side closest to Stillman, and focused on me.

  “Kate, I had a sort of stroke. A mini-cerebrovascular accident, they called it. I was found in one of the interview rooms, unconscious. I had a couple of scans, which were okay, and I recovered fully, but at my age it was thought I should take some personal time. After a suitable period of ‘time out’ I came back to find my position taken over by another senior agent.” He looked at Colleen. “And most of my team had been assigned other positions too.”

  Stillman stood up, walked over to the TV and turned to face us, arms folded. “Bill, there was no stroke. It was a set up. It was the Vu-Hak.”

  Hubert’s face had gone white. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re back. They never went away. We’re in big fucking trouble.”

  Hubert frowned and started to shake his head like a dog drying off after a swim. “No, no, no … that’s not true. Adam stopped them. There’ve been no sightings for six months. I would have known.”

  I walked over to the window and stared up 5th avenue, at the tourists and citizens going about their lives, oblivious to what was coming. The veritable calm before the storm.

  “Mr Hubert, your mind was wiped. Mine too. It’s happening and we’re out of our depth. Can you remember anything at all?”

  “Nothing.” His voice was a pained whisper.

  Stillman had gotten up and was pacing the room. She stopped and looked fixedly at Hubert. “Hypnosis brought Kate’s memories back. Maybe we should try you.”

  Hubert shook his head. “Won’t work, I’m afraid. I’m not susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. It’s one of the FBI requirements, as well you know.”

  “We’ve a copy of a recording,” I said. “It might jog your memory.”

  “A recording of what?”

  “A formal interview between you and a Vu-Hak called Cain. Mackie was there too.”

  Hubert looked aghast. “Mackie? But he’s dead. Heart attack on his farm.”

  Stillman stopped pacing and hugged herself. “No, I don’t think so. Your memories of the incident were selectively wiped by Cain. A heart attack is too convenient to be how Mackie really died.”

  Hubert was frowning. “I don’t understand. Why?”

  “That’s one of the things we need to find out,” I said.

  We pulled the curtains and Stillman plugged the USB into Hubert’s computer. She selected the file and the image of Cain came up, facing the camera looking over the heads of Hubert and Mackie. Stillman pressed the green arrow and the onscreen Hubert, his back to the camera, leaned over and flicked a switch on the recording device. Red numbers started to tick over on the bottom right of the image, counting time forward in seconds and minutes.

  The playback started.

  “The time is 1245 hours on Monday, November twenty-third. Conducting this interview are myself, FBI Deputy Director William Hubert, and FBI Special Agent Lawrence Mackie.”

  Hubert leaned over and stopped the playback. He shook his head, as if clearing his vision. “I have absolutely no memory of this … and yet … it seems familiar.”

  “Keep watching,” I said.

  He clicked the mouse again, and the recording resumed. I watched Hubert closely as the onscreen conversation between the alien and the two FBI men proceeded. Hubert twitched by my side occasionally, but made no comments, even as he and Cain clashed over Adam’s death and the supposed closure of the wormhole, which obviously had not happened. Then the tape abruptly stopped as they were discussing ‘dark matter’.

  “There’s a gap of three minutes here,” I said, reaching over to grab the mouse. “Let me just fast-forward …”

  “Wait,” said Hubert, placing his hand over mine. “Just … wait.”

  “Are you okay?” Stillman said, concern in her voice.

  Hubert was frowning, his eyes blinking as if to clear his head. “Yes, I believe so.” He took the mouse and right-clicked over Cain’s face. A dialog box containing the phrase Password – - – - – - – - opened.

  Stillman
sat back. “What the fuck? How did you know to do that?”

  Hubert shook his head. “Just came to me. And guess what? I know the password.”

  He typed TR1N1TY2.

  There was a burst of static and another screen appeared, replacing the interview. On it, Cain’s face in close-up stared into the camera. Just visible behind him were a couple of bodies lying on the floor and what looked like bullet holes in the walls. Grey smoke drifted at low level.

  Cain started talking, and his eyes glowed phosphorescent green. “Director Hubert, if you are watching this then Colleen Stillman has obtained the recording of our conversation. I embedded a trigger, which would allow you to access this hidden section. I apologize to Ms Stillman for using her in this way …”

  Stillman’s finger stabbed the mouse and the recording paused. “Used me? I found that recording myself … by good old-fashioned detective work as I was going through some old data files.”

  Hubert smirked. “Colleen, do you really think that anything that happened was accidental?”

  Stillman said nothing, folding her arms and looking pissed.

  Hubert pressed play again, and Cain continued in a monotone. “I implanted an organic neural switch in Ms Stillman’s mind, which would have allowed her to find the recording at a time I deemed suitable. That time is now …”

  Stillman paused it again. “Fuck it. He’s using all of us.” Now she sounded pissed as well.

  I gently took hold of the mouse and looked her in the eye. “Colleen, I think we should just hear him out, don’t you?”

  For a long second she glared at me before looking away and nodding grudgingly. I pressed play and sat back. Cain’s sonorous tones filled the room again.

  “The Vu-Hak are on Earth in huge numbers, and they are looking for Kate Morgan. They are looking for her because they want to find me, and they know I have implanted key information into her mind, and given her a new identity, one which she will believe is real. The information she possesses will enable her to find me. It is very important that she remains hidden from the Vu-Hak or everything will be in jeopardy.”

  With a trembling hand I pressed pause and stood back. Stillman and Hubert looked at me, concern in their gazes. There was so much to process, and a headache was coming on. At least now I had proof and some closure as to what had happened. But the ‘why’ still eluded me.

  Specifically, why me?

  And if what Cain was saying was to be believed, he was a traitor to his own race.

  Hubert interrupted my train of thought. “I don’t understand any of this. We know how powerful they are. If they’re here in force, they would just take over, easily. Wouldn’t they?”

  Stillman threw me a glance before turning to Hubert. “They aren’t here in the machines. They seem to be free-floating … ghosts of a sort I guess. Spirits. Untethered consciousnesses. They’re able to take over humans’ bodies. We encountered one at Kate’s apartment and it tried to kill us. If it’d been a machine, we’d be dead.”

  Hubert frowned. “But how? Adam said that the machines were necessary for transport through the wormhole. Didn’t he say that the gravitational forces in there would annihilate organic matter?”

  I nodded. “He did say that.”

  Stillman inclined her head to the screen. “Let’s hear the rest of the tape.”

  I pressed play and stood back. Cain was still staring unwaveringly at the screen.

  “I’m performing vital work that is necessary for the survival of the human race. If I am prevented from completing this work, the Vu-Hak will win. It should be nearing completion in six months, and therefore the fact that you are watching this means the six months is nearly over. You must therefore find Kate Morgan, keep her safe from the Vu-Hak, and bring her to me. She will know where I am.

  And then he dropped the bombshell.

  “Tell her Adam is alive, and he sends his regards.”

  ELEVEN

  Adam was alive.

  That thought ran around my brain like a headless chicken, bouncing off the inside of my skull bones and freaking me out. Hubert had drifted over to the Nespresso machine again and was fiddling with the pods and switches. There was burbling and gurgling as the milk frother did its thing.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me and said, “I wonder what vital work he’s talking about?”

  “At least we know why Cain wanted Kate,” piped up Stillman with a forced smile. “Adam’s got a soft spot for you. I mean, what’s the human race to Cain?”

  I couldn’t focus on any other aspect of the recording, just Cain’s throwaway line at the end telling me that Adam had survived. Adam must have done something to delay the invasion and certain annihilation of the human race, and not only that: he survived. But what were the consequences for him – and us – given that the Vu-Hak were here anyway?

  “So are the rest of us just on borrowed time?” Stillman said to no one in particular.

  She’d gone to the window so I joined her there and looked out over the metropolis, at the Empire State building, and at the people below, oblivious to the forces conspiring against them.

  “This can’t just be about me,” I said, suddenly feeling very weary.

  “No, we have to assume there’s a bigger picture,” said Hubert, handing me an espresso and Stillman a latte. “The key section of the recording is when Cain said that you know where he is. Do you have any knowledge of that?”

  I shook my head and sipped my espresso.

  He tapped my skull with a gentle forefinger. “Cain planted stuff in there. Maybe you should try hypnosis again?”

  “I can’t believe this is just a repressed memory,” said Stillman. “Cain implied that you’d know where to go to find him, so perhaps you should just pick a destination, see what happens?”

  “Really?” I snapped. “You want me to pull a place out of my head? And what, we’ll head straight there?”

  Stillman’s lips tightened. “Maybe. Look, Cain said two things of importance. That you need to remain hidden from the Vu-Hak, and that we should bring you to him. We need some sort of plan, some direction. We can’t just sit here.”

  “We could do exactly that. This room may be the safest place of all. They don’t know we’re here.”

  Hubert looked up. “I think it’s safe to assume they’re targeting acquaintances of yours, Kate. Like me, for instance.”

  A chill tickled the back of my head, like an icy finger. “Are there are lots of people who know you’re in this hotel?”

  He kept a poker face, but his apprehension was palpable. “I don’t think this is a good place to stay at all,” he said ominously.

  “Right,” I said.

  I sat down at the computer. Maybe inspiration would strike, after all. The video was paused on the image of Cain staring out of the screen. I leaned forward and peered more closely. My hand moved to the mouse, and I clickety-clicked here and there before raising an eyebrow and sitting upright. I’d enlarged the image of Cain from the beginning of the interview and blown up his face so that his eyes were all that we could see. Despite the video feed quality, speckles of green phosphorescence shone eerily in the black of his pupils.

  “How about I go to Google Earth and stick a pin on the monitor?” Stillman said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “I’ve thought of something,” I said.

  Hubert came to stand over my shoulder and I pointed at the image of Cain’s eyes.

  “He was talking about the name he gave himself,” I said, “and then he made you think of bible class, remember? The bit about how God made Cain ‘wander the earth, and having a mark on him’, and all that?’’

  Hubert leaned in as well, staring intently at the screen. “You think he was trying to tell me something?”

  “Well, the ‘mark’ comment is interesting. Survey markers or marks are objects placed to mark key points on the Earth’s surface.”

  He pursed his lips and looked unconvinced. “That’s a stretch, but even so how d
oes that help us? He hasn’t told us where he is.”

  “Maybe he’s not telling. Maybe he’s showing. Showing me.”

  I pressed play but ran the file in slow motion. At first nothing happened, the green fluorescence subtle and twinkling, like sea creatures at the bottom of the ocean. Then suddenly there was a red flash, first in the left eye and then in the right. A fast irregular sequence that went on for a few seconds before the familiar emerald glow returned.

  Hubert beamed. “Genius, Kate. Well done.”

  “What?” said Stillman, hands raised.

  “He’s just given us a sequence of letters and numbers in Morse code.”

  “Can you read it back?” I said.

  “I’m a tad rusty. Give me a minute with this recording and I’ll see what I can do. If I can just get it to run at half that speed again, I should be able to make it out.”

  He bent down and started to work with the laptop. Stillman looked at me and gave a big shit-eating grin, which I returned. We gave him some space to work, and as Stillman went to the bathroom I prepared myself another espresso. My hands weren’t shaking yet so my caffeine levels were still sub-optimal.

  Hubert stopped scratching with the pencil, and put it down, beaming.

  “Yep, they’re co-ordinates. Latitude and longitude to be exact.” He pushed the paper over to me:

  Latitude 75 02’ 35” S

  Longitude 47 15’ 28” W

  Stillman returned from the john, pushed Hubert out of the chair and pulled up Google Earth. The familiar spinning globe appeared.

  “Okay then: let’s find out where he’s hanging.”

  She tapped in the co-ordinates and the globe started to turn. The southern hemisphere expanded as we tracked south into the Polar Regions.

  “Antarctica?” I said.

  Hubert leaned over my shoulder. “The Weddell Sea. Covered by a permanent massive ice shelf.”

  Stillman was looking puzzled. “What’s he doing there? Is he underwater?”

  I had my iPhone open at Wikipedia. “Well if he is, he could be easy to spot. Apparently it’s got the clearest water on the planet. A clarity corresponding to distilled water it says here.”