by Ian Edward
On the third night, haunting the river like ghosts, they’d watched crocodiles gliding across the water, diving to hidden lairs. Vender, who had a strange and detailed knowledge on a diverse range of subjects, rambled on about the crocs: ‘They breathe air. So ever wonder how they survive for long periods underwater?’ Vender never required a response to keep on talking. ‘A particular genetic property in their blood enables them to store more oxygen in their haemoglobin than other creatures. Read it in some science mag a while ago.’
Almost absent-mindedly William had said: ‘Mai and the others could have survived if our blood had that same genetic structure.’ In the days that followed the thought gripped him. Humans could train themselves to hold their breaths for long periods – the island pearl divers of the previous century had done that; Mai and some of the village women had done the same thing.
But with the same oxygen-storing capability in our blood as the crocodiles, much longer periods would be possible. Drowning would literally become something of the past.
What finer, nobler legacy could there be to the memory of Mai?
On the sixth day he and Vender were picked up by the riverboat crew, captained by a young Jackson Donnelly, and on their way to Area Commander Logan Asquith…
Consciousness came back slowly to Brian Markham. He drifted in and out of a heavy sleep, as though drugged, mentally trying to force himself out, constantly being pulled back into a quicksand of strange dreams. He became aware of something cold creeping over his face and neck, scratching across his skin, but he couldn’t raise his hands to flick it away.
Finally he was fully awake, though incredibly tired, and he couldn’t fathom where he was. He tried to move but couldn’t even shift slightly. Streams of dust forced him to keep his eyes closed some of the time. He was on his back, facing up. Something was pressing down on him, keeping him immobile and he realised there was water. He could hear the steady trickle somewhere nearby, and he felt it around his neck and on the back of his head.
He drifted back into a half-sleep…woke again, experiencing the same sensations, memory returning…the lift, the explosion…
The sharp, slithery feeling on his forehead, cheeks and neck. Cockroaches. He caught glimpses of them from the corners of his eyes. They’d crawled out through the cracks and holes that riddled the shaft. The water crept higher.
Where were the others? He called out, ‘Kate! ‘Stephen!’ but his voice was weak. No response, no sounds or signs of human life other than his own. He was trapped. They must have gone for help.
Either that or they were hurt…or dead.
To find help they would have to find a way out. He could only imagine what kind of mess lay beyond these walls. His heart began to beat faster, too fast, his breaths shorter. He tried to muster greater strength, to move…it was hopeless… The cockroaches were driving him mad and the water level would slowly cover him…
Panic gripped him as realisation dawned. There was little chance of help reaching him in time, if ever. It would be a slow, dirty death.
One moment Kate was emitting a cry of terror, the next there was only silence coming from her open mouth. It was as though the scream had been sucked right back inside her and frozen solid. She was running through the passageway, stumbling over wreckage that she couldn’t see in the semi-darkness and the ankle deep water. She had barely registered the shock of seeing Stephen taken like that, with such force, food for a hungry reptile.
Was there really anywhere to run? She reached another point of partly caved in rock. She could squeeze through, twisting herself about but she couldn’t possibly push herself through quick enough. Resignedly she looked back. The first of the crocodiles was less than a metre away, its tail whipping the water as it slithered toward her. How could she have escaped such a fate days before, only to face it again, this time with no chance of reprieve? Fate didn’t work like that. Did it?
Oh Greg… Adam…? Why?
A sudden eruption of sound. Squealing, high pitched. An assault on the ears.
What…?
She was jolted, a mass of movement around her legs and through the crevasses above and below her, a moving carpet of hundreds of tiny creatures rushing from all sides, panicked.
Rats.
She’d seen one or two before, scurrying away, but had paid little attention. Nothing like this. They were literally spilling from the cracks, charging through the passage, running from the reptiles and the deeper water.
The crocodile’s jaws snapped down, capturing three of the rodents in one savage crunch and the crocodiles immediately behind it tore into more of the rats. The screech of the rats was deafening. But they had distracted the crocs. The creatures now began to whip their bodies about, diving at the rodents. Kate tore her eyes away from the feeding frenzy.
Crouching down, she propelled herself through the narrow shelf that had been left when part of this passage had crumbled. Small, furry bodies squelched under her feet. She was revolted, queasy, horrified.
The space widened again. An area that was part maze, part chamber opened up around her. A twisted mass of columns, tunnels and dark pits, stone meshed with metal and glass. The water thinning out…
Then she heard the voice.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Logan Asquith’s call to “Bulldog” Frazer confirmed what he already expected.
‘Our intel shows the task force has enough to implicate Westmeyer,’ Frazer said. ‘There’s an aerial photo that shows a body being dumped from his boat. And a Sydney woman has been tracked down, a banker, who was in Westmeyer’s home and overheard him discussing the drowning deaths with someone. We suspect that “someone” was the mayor, who’s been in Westmeyer’s pocket. We can’t have William being arrested and put through interrogation.’
‘Agree,’ Asquith said.
‘Is Renshaw equipped to take care of it?’
‘Yes. But he’s not in this car.’
‘I’ll call him on his cell,’ Frazer said. ‘Are the other team leaders there with you?’
Asquith explained that Donnelly and Tannen were with him, but that Erickson and Hunter had gone missing.
‘Unfortunately we can’t cancel Donnelly as well, not right now. One supposedly natural death will be taken at face value. Two or more will arouse suspicion. With his criminal background, Donnelly’s the obvious one to take the fall for the research activities. Erickson’s not so much a threat. Wherever he is, there’s nothing concrete to link him or his men to any of this and he’s tough as steel. He’s unlikely to be found. If Hunter hasn’t been intercepted, then we’ll find him and spirit him out of the country.’
‘And Nexus?’ asked Asquith.
‘Once the Australian Feds have spoken with our authorities here, I’ll be expecting a formal investigation by the Attorney General and JAG. But we’ll be ready. The Chiefs don’t know of our existence but they’ll want to launch their own internal inquiry. The unit will be temporarily closed down and all signs of its existence eradicated. Knowledge of any activity denied. We’ll speak to the Embassy there, to make certain you’re allowed to leave the country.’
“Bulldog” Frazer’s next call was to Renshaw.
Asquith checked his watch over and over as the vehicle sped on.
It was essential now that Frazer was able to save the situation.
His thoughts flashed back to the first time he’d presented the idea of the Delta Chain project to Frazer, over fifteen years earlier.
He and Frazer had always been of like minds.
‘You’re saying this Westmeyer has mice breathing underwater?’
‘Not breathing, as such, but holding their breaths effortlessly for several minutes.’
‘Mice?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you believe his prelim research holds up?’
‘Yes. This man may very well succeed in having human beings capable of storing oxygen in their blood long enough to exist underwater for hours at a time.’
‘How
long do you expect that might take?’
‘Through the proper channels – who knows? Several decades. Longer.’
‘Are you thinking what I believe you’re thinking?’
Asquith nodded. ‘Imagine it. Navy Seals able to hold their breaths underwater, effortlessly, for extreme lengths of time. No need for cumbersome diving equipment. But it goes far beyond that. All our forces – army, navy, air force – hundreds of thousands of men and women with that same ability.’
‘The tactical advantages,’ said Frazer, ‘for combat, for peacekeeping missions, for invasion, for search and rescue – are infinite.’
Both men had long believed that the greatest war of all time was coming in the twenty first century.
‘An incredible tactical advantage,’ Asquith acknowledged. ‘And think of the doors it will open for you and I. The positions, the prestige.’
‘True power.’ “Bulldog” Frazer took a moment, weighing the potential. ‘And if we bypass the proper channels and fast-track this, if we assign Westmeyer to pursue this under the Nexus cloak?’
‘I can only hazard a guess. Maybe fifteen years, ten without setbacks.’
‘Then we had better get this Westmeyer underway. The timing would be ideal for this…vision…of yours.’
That was how it had begun. Asquith checked his watch again, snapping himself back to the present.
Beyond his military career, and his role in the Nexus group, Asquith’s vision, with Frazer, was to create his own independent company – private scientific research with military applications – selling its products and services in the broader market, to the highest bidder.
Just as another visionary had built a private mercenary army for hire– known as Blackwater – Asquith envisaged the same but in their own specialised field.
The successful unveiling of Delta Chain would provide them with the perfect moment to negotiate the launch their own enterprise.
They were at the threshold and nothing must derail them now.
The fissure ran straight through to another, partly submerged area. Trickles of light at random points, a maze of what appeared to be other passageways beyond the shadows. Erickson inched forward, still gripping the flashlight, the running water reaching to his kneecaps and rising steadily.
He knew enough about the sub-level to know there were tunnels, left untouched since the war years, running to the coast. Were they covered over now or was there still a way out?
There has to be a way out.
All of a sudden he saw the head of a croc. Erickson froze. The croc was very still but Erickson could tell it was alive, watching him with lazy eyes. He cursed himself for not having grabbed one of his guns from the truck. It wasn’t like him to be so damn stupid, to act so foolishly under pressure. He was on his own, sealed in, without weapons, with one of the crocs he himself had captured.
Maybe he could bluff his way out of this.
Keeping his eyes on the creature, he began to inch slowly backward. The fissure opening was right behind him, higher and drier. He could run once he was through that opening. The reptile still didn’t move. Maybe the creature, rocked by the explosions and the change in its environment, was disorientated.
He kept his movements slow. He wouldn’t attempt to turn his body until he was directly alongside the crack. He felt the rise in the ground beneath his feet. Almost there. He sensed success.
The crocodile lunged, a sudden movement at frightening speed, the great jaws flying open. Teeth clamped down around Erickson’s upper legs and he was yanked viciously back across the water.
It wasn’t deep enough for the reptile to go into its death roll, drowning its intended victim before it began to feed. The huge jaws held its prey tightly while it moved through the water, navigating the surrounding area. Erickson began to struggle, twisting his body about in terror. He hurled a solid punch deep into the crocodile’s eye, breaking through membrane, spurting blood and tissue. The croc convulsed in pain, the jaw slackening enough for Erickson to squirm free. He lashed out across the subterranean river but even as he did so he saw the second and third crocs, rearing up from behind the first.
The bodies of all three crocs went into frenzy, tails whipping through water, jaws snapping at one another as they glided, jostling, toward the prize. Erickson had reached the fissure and was pulling himself up when one of the crocs caught him, jagged teeth clamping down once again, this time around his lower leg, pulling him back. The jaws of a second croc closed around Erickson’s upper torso. Teeth tore through skin, crunching bone. The crocs rolled their bodies, each tearing hungrily at their prey, fighting each other for it.
No one heard Erickson’s screams.
The young people were herded into the fleet of vans, together with their Keepers and Carers.
Vender was in the front van. He didn’t look back as the Estate gates swung open and the van inched forward.
That was when the crescendo filled the air.
Sirens.
Vender’s breath caught in his throat as the first of the police squad cars entered via the open gateway
Asquith’s car arrived at the Northern Rocks police centre at the same time as the other police- escorted rental vehicles. The four men alighted from their car, and joining with the others, including Renshaw, they were escorted into the building.
Westmeyer barely felt the pinprick as Renshaw’s hand brushed against his.
They were on the steps when Westmeyer clutched at his chest, stumbling forward. Donnelly reacted immediately, but was unable to stop his boss’ body crumpling onto the steps. The untraceable chemical did its work quickly.
When the paramedics arrived seven minutes later they pronounced William Westmeyer dead. A stunned Jackson Donnelly shot erratic, disbelieving looks at Asquith and Renshaw.
For the first time in his journey from petty criminal to gung ho soldier to corrupt big business henchman, Donnelly felt real panic. There was nothing to indicate foul play, other than the sour acid of suspicion gnawing at the pit of his stomach.
Invisible walls were closing in around him, invisible hands were casting him into the abyss.
As soon as he heard the scream, Adam knew it was Kate. He did not know how he knew. He’d never heard her scream. But he knew it was Kate. At some stage she must have followed him down. Did that mean Brian was with her?
The scream had come from behind, back where they’d run from the crocodiles. God…No…
He didn’t want to leave Elizabeth and Daniel alone but he couldn’t lead them back. Too dangerous. But Kate? He couldn’t just go on, leaving her behind. ‘You two keep running, keep following this tunnel, there’s light somewhere ahead.’
‘Don’t leave us,’ Elizabeth pleaded.
‘I have to try and help whoever’s back there, Elizabeth. I can’t just leave them to the crocs. Now go on. Keep moving.’
He backtracked cautiously, eyes watching the dark spaces for any sign of the creatures. A dozen of them, Daniel had said. ‘Kate, it’s Adam. Can you hear me?’
Nothing.
‘Kate!’
‘…Adam?’
‘Kate, you sound close. Can you tell where my voice is coming from?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she called back.
‘Wherever you think my voice is coming from, run toward it. You’ll know if it’s getting closer.’ He was shouting as loud as his throat would allow. He was at a point from which multiple tunnels and rock fissures ran into the dark. Kate could have been approaching from any direction, as sounds were distorted, with echoes bouncing around the walls. ‘Kate, can you see any crocs?’
‘They’re feeding on swarms of rats. But they’re not far behind me.’
‘You sound closer. Keep coming but watch the ground. Holes everywhere, don’t fall.’
All of a sudden she was in front of him, charging out of blackness in a fine spray of dust and water. For just a moment he didn’t realise this was Kate. Her face was black with muck, her short blonde hair dark and
matted to her skull. Her right eye swollen. Torn blouse and pants smeared with blood.
He pulled her in close to him, turning back the way he’d come, and pushing her forward, he said: ‘Keep moving.’
One of the SES teams had found a tunnel in a thick tangle of brush when a cry went up from further along. The cry was from the group led by Arthur Kirby and John Harrison. They were further down the slope where lush green forest thinned rapidly to sandy, sloping foothills. From a narrow opening set back in the cliff face, Adam, Kate, Elizabeth and Daniel came staggering out. Rain was beating down harder now and the wind was cold. Adam had hated storms ever since that night, the night his sister had drowned, hated them with a vengeance.
He didn’t mind this one. It was exhilarating being in the open air, the rainwater a tonic on the skin.
‘Thank God you’re okay,’ Kirby said. Stanley and Kavanaugh from the Task Force were amongst the next group to reach them.
‘Markham is still down there, Arthur, trapped-’
‘The SES guys are onto it.’
‘No. Call them together, I need to brief them.’
‘Why?’
‘The tunnels in there are crawling with crocs,’ Kate said before Adam could respond. All four of them were on their knees, taking in deep breaths. Elizabeth was crying.
‘Lord Almighty,’ said Kirby.
‘There was a constant need for both freshwater and seawater down there,’ Adam said, ‘supplying croc pits and human drowning chambers. That means they had an elaborate series of pipes, connected to the mains and to the ocean shore.’
