“If you knew that from the start, why take my call? Why bring me here?” Jordan hesitated, but asked anyway, “Why am I still alive?”
Again, Matvei let out a long, pained sigh. “I had to be sure about you.”
“And are you now?”
“Yes.”
“And the old men in Moscow, are they sure?”
“I don’t know about them, but they seem to believe you know something about this whole mess that no one else does. If they didn’t believe that, well, I don’t think you would still be with us.”
Jordan thought of Madison. He was confronted with the depressing thought that he might never live long enough to meet her. Life suddenly took on a profound importance it had never held for Jordan until this moment. He had to survive through this, whatever this singularity event he was about to confront would throw at him.
“So what happens now, Matvei?”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last few days. I don’t know. I don’t like any of the solutions I’ve come to.”
Jordan took a single step towards the Russian bear, “I’ve never done anything against you, the Spetsnaz, or Russia. Hell, I’ve even shed blood for all three, or did you forget about Afghanistan?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten,” Matvei said and subconsciously glanced down at his left leg, a leg he wouldn’t be standing on today if it wasn’t for the mysterious man in front of him.
Before the conversation could continue, the spoon inside Jordan’s coffee cup began to rattle. Then the vibrations increased, causing Matvei’s gun case to fall from the mess table. Next the submarine began to lurch violently from one side to the other. Both men had to grab hold of the bolted-down tables to avoid falling. This went on for over three minutes before slowly subsiding.
“Depth charges?” Matvei asked Jordan when it was over.
“No explosions.” Jordan said then walked over to an intercom to speak with the captain of the submarine.
“What was that?” he asked when the old Russian seaman answered the hail.
“As near as we can tell it was seismic activity from the big mass the Americans are drilling into. But it appears to have been localized. Something big down there…moved.”
Matvei walked up next to Jordan and pressed the intercom button. “Captain, prepare to get us out of here and back to Vladivostok with all haste.”
The Submarine commander confirmed the order but Jordan wouldn’t have it.
“No, we can’t go, Matvei, something big is happening here. Something we have to stop.”
“Yes, big enough to cause an earthquake and I’m getting us the hell out of here because of it. The Americans can deal with it.”
“Wait,” Jordan said, but knowing that Matvei had made up his mind he quickly settled on the only course of action available to him, no matter how crazy it sounded. “Let me get off the sub. I’ll use the torpedo tubes and swim to the oil platform.”
Matvei smiled, “You’re mad. The water is near freezing. Why would you do that?”
“Because millions of people have already died, and millions more will probably share the same fate. Because something very bad is going to happen here and I may be able to stop it. This is not just bad for any one country, but bad for everyone.”
Matvei said nothing, as if at some level he knew Jordan spoke the truth. His smile was gone and he was just staring at Jordan.
“Please, if you’ve ever trusted me, trust me now.”
When that didn’t seem to be working, Jordan added firmly, “One way or the other I’m going for the torpedo tubes. Please, let’s not end things between us like this.”
The large Russian thought about it for a moment, then said wearily, “For past services rendered to the Motherland and to me, I’ll do this. But you can’t ever come back to Russia and you must never call again. You are now dead to everyone. You are dead to me.”
Regretfully Jordan nodded. The two made for his bunk so that he could gather weapons and gear. He crossed another name off of the friend list in his head.
The submarine lurched, turned over and over sending Jordan and Matvei crashing against the ceiling, then floor, then ceiling and floor again. Within a few seconds it was all over, with the submarine floor now on a step angle to the horizontal.
Jordan quickly checked his body. He was sore, bleeding in a few places, but otherwise unharmed.
“Matvei, are you okay?”
The Russian groaned. “Yeah, I think so, you?”
“Yes, shaken a little. What the hell happened?”
“Let’s call the sub commander.”
Within a few minutes they had a report. Matvei didn’t believe it, but Jordan knew the truth of it. If their sensors were to be believed, they had just passed through a bubble of vacuum half a mile wide.
Luckily for them, thought Jordan, they must have passed into the vacuum close to lower curve of the rapidly collapsing sphere, otherwise the fall would have killed them all.
* * *
Titanic spheres of water hung above the ocean, each hundreds of meters across, suspended in the air by invisible forces that were impossible to see or understand. Below, the ocean churned, rolled in crests and troughs that followed no reason or logic. Lightning flashed between the water and dark brooding clouds so thick they looked to be made of liquid water. Somewhere in the heart of primordial chaos a Centaurus oil rig still drilled into something alien, buried deep beneath the tumultuous waves.
Peel had seen many unnatural phenomena in his life. None had scared him as much as this scene did.
He braced himself on the bridge of the aircraft carrier USS George Washington with a dozen or more naval officers and aides. None of them believed the scene either, a scene that just rolled up out of a calm and tranquil ocean like it belonged. All men and women held onto something, fearful that the rocking waves would throw them to the floor.
“Report.” Admiral Alderson shouted over the noise of the storm.
Chief Petty Officer Cerra answered him. “Sir, that was the third underwater tremor in an hour originating from beneath the target. All three have increased in magnitude; the computer says that last one was a 4.6 on the Richter scale. But…”
“But, what Chief Petty Officer?”
“Sir, it also says there are pockets of vacuum under the water directly beneath us.”
The admiral raised an eyebrow. “That’s impossible! Are you sure?”
“If he says it’s so, Admiral,” interrupted Peel, “it’s the truth.”
Out of respect, Alderson gave the slightest nodded to Peel, then turned to his men. “Jones, you still cracking their com traffic?”
“Aye sir. Centaurus HQ is still updating the rig team on our coordinates and ordering them to increase drilling and pumping. They say they have a tanker coming, ETA two days.”
“Well that’s mighty optimistic of them if they think they can get past us, or this…storm. Keep me apprised if any of the chatter changes or if they get wise to us and change their encryption.”
“Aye aye sir, but that shouldn’t be a problem. The codes the Aussie gave us are golden.”
The Admiral turned to Peel. “Yes, I guess it was a good idea to bring you along after all, Major Peel.”
Peel smiled, not that he had much to be glad about with the scene before him. “Centaurus ‘acquired’ their encryption software from the NSA. Luckily I have better friends there than they do.”
Admiral Alderson returned to the business at hand, leaving Peel to his thoughts as he stood in an out of the way corner on the bridge of the massive aircraft carrier.
He felt apprehensive towards what lay ahead. His extra-dimensional trips into the cold and the dark were becoming more frequent and in them he was always wet. The last trip had been less than thirty minutes ago, and twenty minutes before that. Saturated and cold, it didn’t seem worth changing again.
His instantaneous trips in and out of reality had their advantages. On one trip he returned with a corpse
of Jordan, which remained in a NSA conference room long enough before vanishing to be seen by several senior NSA directors, convincing them to send the fleet to the South Pacific coordinates Jordan had provided.
After returning to Fort Meade, Maryland, Peel had planned on using his governmental clout to speak to a physics professor at a college or think tank for more clarity on the situation, but was instead put on a plane bound for Yokosuka, Japan. There the US Navy’s Seventh Fleet was found and its flagship, the USS George Washington, the only American aircraft carrier with a home port outside of the States.
His warnings were being taken seriously, especially when Peel gave his superiors the longitude and latitude that Jordan had provided—that and the fact that something drastic was occurring in the South Pacific. Watching the city size bubbles of water materializing from nowhere, then collapsing back into the ocean, would have convinced anyone the world was in serious danger.
The floating city that was the USS George Washington was accompanied by eighteen other support vessels of various kinds, but even their sheer numbers seemed insignificant now. Reports were coming in that two ships had already been lost to the uncanny and violent weather, and another had simply vanished. No one said it, but everyone was in a somber mood, hiding their fear as best as they were able.
“Sir, we have visual on the platform.” One of the Navy men called out, interrupting Peel’s thoughts. The carrier group had been sending out recon flights for hours, and their images were being broadcast on monitors in the bridge. Now the tumultuous skies opened up again, and the large floating oilrig appeared as a dark spot on the horizon.
“Excellent. Mr. Kernot, what’s the status of the—” Admiral Alderson began but was interrupted when the massive ship he commanded began to shake violently.
Chief Petty Officer Cerra called out, “Another quake, this one at least a seven-and-a-half.”
“All hands brace for rough weather. Mr. Cummings, wave off all birds. Tell them to stay airborne until we ride this out.” The Admiral ordered.
As sailors sprang into nervous action, Harrison Peel looked out a window to his left that overlooked the flightdeck. He saw an F/A-18 Super Hornet jetfighter just meters from touching down when the huge carrier began to lurch wildly. The fighter pilot must have yanked back on the stick with everything he had because he was just able to pull up and abort the landing without slamming into the deck.
“Admiral, I’ve got a sonar report from the Curtis Wilbur. It’s…kind of strange.” A sailor called out from the carrier’s Action Information Center. The USS Curtis Wilbur was a fast moving destroyer that was leading the way of the carrier group. As such it was closest to the Centaurus platform and was responsible for relaying sonar and seismic readings to the George Washington.
“Spit it out son, what’s ‘strange’ about it, compared to what we are already seeing?”
“Sir, something underneath the oil platform is…rising up. Something very big.”
“How big is big?” the captain barked.
“Hard to tell, sir. The Wilbur’s readings are…well again, strange. They can’t seem to get an accurate reading of the object but at the very least it’s many miles in diameter. Dubrowski said over the com that it looked as big as an island. Like ‘a sunken island’ is what he said exactly, sir.”
For a moment all the chatter on the bridge ceased as that last shouted statement hit everyone at once.
“What?” Admiral Alderson said. “Get Dubrowski back on the horn and find out—”
“Sir, I’ve been trying but I’ve lost contact.”
The admiral turned, still holding onto a nearby railing in order to stay on his feet, motioned towards the nearest sailor manning the radar and asked, “Is the Curtis Wilbur sill afloat?”
“Aye sir,” said the navy woman watching the screen intensely. “I still have it, but sir, I’m reading something else—”
“Admiral, dead ahead!” a voice called out, louder and more panicked then the rest.
Alderson looked forward across the prow of his mighty warship. Peel looked with him. What they saw now left them both speechless.
Seen through binoculars, the Centaurus oil platform was no longer a large dot riding the waves, but a crumpled structure of bent steel resting awkwardly on its side on a huge mass of muddy earth that continued to rise up from the waves as everyone watched in awe. It was an island for sure, and odd only began to describe it. The clouds around it now spun like a whirlpool, the eye of the storm creating an eerie calm where the putrid green colored rock appeared.
What first appeared to be a mountain range was soon recognizable as anything but solid rock. The jagged, twisting peaks were too uniform, yet simultaneously too chaotic to be anything formed by nature.
What Peel at first took to be a large, muddy hill underneath the oil platform, turned out to be a huge structure as more of the building steadily rose out of the ocean. Staring at the bizarre architecture he could not understand its true size or shape. There were too many odd angles and impossible shadows dancing over its surface. To look at the thing for too long caused the eyes to water, loose focus, and begin to hurt. It took Peel every effort not to be sick.
Still the island rose, sloughing off water and millennia of muck and slime. Now the admiral could see the destroyer USS Curtis Wilbur resting on its starboard side on what would be considered the island’s rocky beach. A thin trail of smoke was rising up from the vessel.
“Holy Mother of Jesus, Major Peel, what exactly have you gotten us into?” Admiral Alderson turned from the magnificent sight before him, to stare at Peel as if it was his fault that the world seemed about to end.
“You’ve got to get me out there?”
“Are you insane?”
“Probably.” Peel had no idea what he needed to do when he reached the heart of R’lyeh, but he knew his fate, and the fate of the world, rested on what they could achieve in the next few hours. “I need every Navy SEAL you can spare, and every helicopter you’ve got.”
“And what do you think you are going to achieve?”
“I don’t know, but a hell of a lot more than what I’ll achieve standing here.”
Admiral Alderson hesitated, but only for the briefest moment.
“Okay Major, whatever we can spare.”
* * *
Matvei and Jordan stood on the deck of the Russian 877 Paltus submarine, bracing against the impossible swells. Jordan wore a heated wetsuit, lugged his AN-94, Makarov automatic pistol, and a web of hand grenades to the dingy he had just inflated. If he could avoid getting into the frigid water for as long as possible, then he would do so. Matvei meanwhile in his military uniform was saturated from the swells and the rain, and was shivering violently. On the near horizon they both saw the rising island, or corpse city, or whatever it was, and it scared them both.
“You need to get inside, Matvei. Do you want your epitaph to read that such a brave soldier died from a common cold?”
“I have to tell you something Yegor.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been holding out on me?”
“The general, Nikonov, said I was to pass on key information at the appropriate time. I asked him when, but he would only say I would know when the time was right. Seeing that,” he pointed towards R’lyeh, “the time is right now.”
Jordan was ready to leave. He only had to clamber into the dingy and start the motor, and he would be away. Time was against him, yet he would wait to hear what his old friend had to say. “Go on?”
“General Nikonov said he knew what Henbest was looking for. A place called Ral-lie.”
“R’lyeh.”
“Whatever. That’s R’lyeh right? He said in the heart of that place is a device called the Infinite Replicator. Nikonov said if you recover it, and bring it back to him, all will be forgiven.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and he made special mention that all the things you think he doesn’t know about would be forgiven too.”
&nb
sp; Jordan shuddered. Had his cover been blown long ago? Had GRU SV-8 being using Jordan as much, if not more so, than what he had been using the Russians for all these years? Did Nikonov have intimate understanding of the real nature of Jordan’s work, and used it to his advantage? Or was the old bastard just bluffing. Trouble was, Jordan would probably never know.
“Tell the sly dog if he’s too afraid to meet me in hell, then he doesn’t deserve it.”
“Hell!” Matvei yelled through chattering teeth.
Jordan pointed questioningly to the corpse city, but Matvei’s gaze didn’t follow. Instead his eyes traced an object racing across the sky, and then he was sick onto the submarine deck.
Instinctively Jordan looked skyward. What he thought was an American aircraft carrier was accelerating into the sky, and it wasn’t coming down again. It was just getting smaller and smaller.
“What the hell was that?”
Matvei didn’t answer Jordan. He stumbled, tripped several times before he was into the airlock back inside the submarine.
Shivering, and not from the cold this time, Jordan accepted his fate, whatever that was to be. He clambered aboard the dingy, started the motor and took a beeline straight to the one place on earth none of his enemies would ever be brave enough to hunt him in.
* * *
Peel abseiled into the bulbous puck-green buildings covered in seaweed, crabs and fish dying in their thousands, and other creatures he didn’t recognize as being of this earth. Navy SEALs dropped with him, armed and ready for anything, or so they thought.
As Peel unlatched his clasp from the drop rope, the SEAL beside him was too slow as his rope caught, propelling him skyward at rocket speed. There was an explosion overhead as the Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion helicopter disintegrated in a fireball. A large arm-like appendage, the thickness of the aircraft carrier they had just left, had come out of a swirling mass of darkness and punched the helicopter out of existence, dragging the drop cables in its wake.
The SEAL lieutenant next to Peel looked to him for reassurance, perhaps hoping that he had just imagined what they saw.
Cthulhu Unbound 3 Page 29
