by John Lilley
Strange Temple
JOHN LILLEY
…
Version 2.8
Copyright © 2017 John Lilley
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5272-1012-7
DEDICATION
Linda
Sean, Kara & Rachel
Jane & Nicholas
Joan & Peter
Brian & Ian
Mum & Dad
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
AKNOWLEDEMENTS
INSPIRATIONS
1 IRAN
2 CAR RIDE
3 CHIEF
4 ON THE TRAIL
5 MARLBOROUGH
6 TO THE MEETING
7 THE MINE
8 TIN-MAN
9 DEEP GRAVE
10 INTO THE CITY
11 AT HOME
12 A VISIT FROM MOTHER
13 AT WORK
14 AFRICA ARRIVES
15 GREGORY
16 EUROPE
17 THE SIX
18 A NEW START
19 BUSINESS AS USUAL
20 THE NATIVES
21 THERAPY
22 NEW BLOOD
23 THE TOWER
30 JAKE
31 LOST IN THE WOODS
32 STRANGE TEMPLE
33 RESCUE
34 BACK AT THE OFFICE
35 REUNION
36 A PLAN
37 SPECIAL AGENT
38 BEER AT BILL’S
39 AT THE MEETING
40 HOLIDAY
41 ORCAS
42 PICNIC
43 ON THE BEACH
44 ESCAPE
45 ACROSS THE POND
46 MUDSLIDE
47 ICELAND
48 CONFLICT
49 LIMPING BACK
50 ARRIVAL
51 RESOLUTION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AKNOWLEDEMENTS
Special thanks to Linda for proof-reading this novel and for all her support while I was writing it.
Everyone on that wonderful Nile cruise, where I got the idea and made a start.
INSPIRATIONS
Irlam Library – 1970s – Science Fiction Section
Forbidden Planet
The Royal Navy
Larry Niven
Susan Boyle
The British countryside
The music of the 70’s and 80’s
The original Star Trek
The Apollo Program
Lego & Meccano
James Lovelock
Almond Press
Tomorrow’s World
All my art teachers
Population Matters
Samaritans
Blake’s 7
J.K. Rowling
Robot Wars
The Scout Association
The natural world
1 IRAN
Abdul’s stomach was still churning. The web of lies, veiled threats and the hidden agendas were all par for the course at these conferences, but even an experienced diplomat found it difficult to play the game at times, and it was a great relief to retreat to his hotel suite. He walked barefoot across the deep pile of the hand-made carpets towards the mini-bar. A wealthy man, he always stayed in the executive suites in the Tehran Meridian, this particular one was a home from home for him. He liked its views across the city to the mountains in the north. Although it was well past midnight, the vibrant metropolis was still buzzing with traffic and blazing with light. Slouched in one of the sumptuous cream leather armchairs was Joseph; Abdul’s closest friend and fellow diplomat.
‘Do you want ice in that?’ Abdul asked as he approached the mini-bar.
‘Just some water please old boy, 50/50,’ replied Joseph.
Abdul readily identified the green-edged cream label of the 25-year-old Talisker miniature and dumped its contents into one of the heavy Waterford crystal tumblers.
‘How do you think it went today?’ he said as he carefully topped up the glass with chilled mineral water from the bar’s spigot.
‘I really think we’re making progress. The Pakistanis are always tough cookies and never like to leave without a bargain. It’s part of their shopkeeper mentality. They’re desperate though, what with all those migrants moving in from the flooded regions,’ replied Joseph.
‘I agree Pakistan is a big problem,’ said Abdul. ‘I can see some time soon, when they’re all streaming north and west away from the heat. They’re starving.’
This was their sixth diplomatic trip to Tehran in the past ten months, but their connections went way back. Roommates in Trinity College Cambridge, they had both graduated in the same year, both firsts: Abdul’s in Physics and Joseph’s in Geography. Their backgrounds were worlds apart: Abdul being a minor Saudi Prince and Joseph a Bethlehem street cleaner's son, but despite this, they’d hit it off immediately. Both joined the OTC, and both were in the University triathlon team. They even shared a girlfriend or two.
There was a sudden loud knocking on the door.
‘Who in hell is that at this time?’ said Abdul as he walked briskly towards the door. More knocks. ‘OK, I’m on my way, keep your turban on.’
He had a quick look through the spy-hole: Omar? Why? He unlocked the door which immediately flew open under the pressure from Omar’s stocky frame.
‘Quick, the pair of you, we need to get out,’ gasped Omar. He’d been running, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. After seeing his bulging eyes and agitated manner, they both put to one side their thoughts that this was another of Omar’s pranks. Anything that could get an agent like Omar that worked-up was something to be treated seriously.
‘How long have we got?’ asked Joseph, his diplomat’s mind a whorl of potential contributory scenarios.
‘Ten minutes. Go to the foyer. Bring as much food and water as you can,’ Omar was already turning to leave, ‘and enough kit for 10 days in the desert.’
‘Shit. See you down there,’ said Joseph as he ran to his own suite.
Quickly changing for the desert, Abdul stuffed a large Louis Vuitton bag with some clothes. At the mini-bar, he threw the bottled water and soft drinks into the bag followed by all the peanuts, chocolate and finally the contents of the fruit bowl. He snatched his sat-phone from the table on the way out. Five minutes gone.
Omar and Joseph were waiting for him on the ground floor, beneath the elaborate canopy of the executive floor lift.
‘OK, let’s try not to draw attention to ourselves. We can take the side entrance to the vehicle,’ whispered Omar.
‘Great, no problem,’ snapped Joseph. ‘We suddenly appear in the dead of night, dressed for the desert in the best that Gieves & Hawkes can provide. Nobody will suspect a thing.’
‘OK, OK, I didn’t ask for this. I’ve just been told to extract you, quickly and quietly,’ said Omar.
They walked briskly across the main foyer past the fountains and desks and down the corridor to the side entrance. It seemed to go well, but a large man sat on one of the foyer sofas whispered into a short-wave handset as he jumped to his feet and ran out of the main entrance.
In the side street, they ran to the vehicle which had already started. Omar accelerated the large 4x4 relentlessly as soon as he was behind the wheel. Leaving deep furrows in the ornamental gravel, he drove into a dark alley behind the hotel. A red light was flashing on his sat-phone in the cradle on the dashboard. Joseph checked his phone but discovered that it didn’t even have the light that Omar’s had. The vehicle’s sat-nav system was also showing the tracks of three vehicles, not just the one they were in. Omar didn’t take any prisoners as he spun the heavy vehicle around the tiny back streets. Its paintwork took some hits as they scraped along walls and doorways. A goat (Capra Aegagrus Hircus) ble
ated briefly as its body was smashed against the front fenders and slid beneath the wheels. Without flinching, Omar increased their speed still further. The other two tracking lights were receding, and after a further two minutes of the white-knuckle ride one of them went out. Omar deliberately clipped several wooden posts bringing their supported canopies crashing down. Rounding a street corner, he was confronted with a street café only 10 metres away, too late to avoid it; he just ploughed through the tables and chairs. The only customer had chosen a table near the front wall of the property, fortunate indeed as his table and coffee were whisked away in a deafening crash of blazing light. A chair became stuck under the 4x4’s nearside sill and made an impressive display of sparks as it scraped along the cobbled street before disintegrating under the rear wheel. Omar spun the 4x4 through 150 degrees at the next small square and entered an alley only 10 centimetres wider than the vehicle. Despite throwing the switch to fold in the door mirrors, a protruding door frame took one out in a shower of plastic and glass. His double-back strategy seemed to have paid off as the other remaining tracking light went out. Five minutes later the red flashing light on Omar’s phone turned to amber, and he seemed to relax the pace slightly.
‘OK, I think we’re in the clear now gents, only twenty minutes to the city limits. Then we can see just how far we can get,’ he said.
‘How far we can get from what?’ asked Abdul. ‘You really have some explaining to do.’
‘All in good time chaps, but I need to get out into the desert before I can take my mind off the road,’ answered Omar, suddenly swerving around a heavily loaded donkey (Equus Asinus) cart.
Captain Stephen Allen was sat in his small cabin, just twenty feet from the control room of the most powerful submarine in the US Navy. The Oklahoma was the only 23,000-ton Glenn Class boat in service. Four more were planned, but people would have starved if they had been built, American people.
He ran his thick fingers through his expensively coiffured grey hair.
‘What a freakin’ mess this had all been,’ he whispered to himself.
Allen had seen it all before, and it saddened him that with only four months until retirement he had been asked to take this final mission. He could think of three or four good guys 20 years his junior who could have done the job.
His old colleagues were quite happy to jump ashore and get promoted to Admiral, with the big salary and all the comforts of shore-life. But Allen couldn’t stand pushing paper, he thought on his feet in high-pressure environments and most of all he loved the sea; so that was where he’d stayed. As a result of this, he was now the most experienced and most decorated submariner in the fleet, something that his old colleagues resented. Allen felt that was one reason why they’d picked him for this last big mission, and of course the fact that they just didn’t want their names on it. Central Government came up with this crazy end-of-the-world plan, and they’d agreed to go with it, but history would leave his name on the button.
So guilt is what it’s all about, he thought.
The 4x4 had been skimming across the gravel desert road at great speed for thirty minutes.
‘Would now be a good time?’ asked Abdul.
‘Of course, sorry I just needed to get clear first,’ replied Omar. Another minute passed.
‘Well?’ reminded Abdul.
‘OK, OK, we needed to get well clear of the city, there is going to be some trouble there later tonight,’ Omar said.
‘Trouble, what like suicide bombs?’ Abdul said as he and Joseph both laughed, knowing that suicide bombs had stopped a long time ago when the last of the religious terrorist groups had been hunted down mercilessly by the United Middle Eastern Army (UMEA). In fact, Omar had been one of the key trainers of this new regional army.
‘No don’t tell me, Millwall is playing Tehran?’ added Joseph to more laughter.
‘Very funny, hey look, give me a break; I only got the word ten minutes before I picked you up. All I know is that something big is coming off, the Americans are involved, and we have to get to the other side of those hills as soon as possible,’ Omar said as he pointed to the dark shapes on the horizon.
‘It’s a barbeque. The Yanks love barbeques in the desert. Remember the Gulf War?’ said Abdul.
‘Hey, that was uncalled for,’ said Omar.
‘Those hills are a good two hour’s drive away. Surely it can’t be something happening in Tehran?’ enquired Joseph.
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ said Abdul slowly, staring at the dashboard, his face draining of colour.
Captain Allen had moved to his command chair. He was deep in thought, with his head lowered, staring at his hand-made Jermyn Street shoes. The USA had been running on empty for a couple of years. They’d exhausted their offshore and fracking reserves in record time and the per-capita rationing system enforced by the Arab nations no longer suited them. Anyway, it was a somewhat academic exercise since the great die-back had started in earnest. With no fish in the sea and the temperature well above the two-degree tipping point over a billion people had already died. Allen thought that perhaps the politicians should think about more important priorities than keeping people’s cars running?
This mission was the next phase of the USA’s new “Patriot Survival Plan”. A ground assault was not feasible with their slimmed-down army. Nuclear was their only option to maintain an acceptable form of existence, even if it would be a very isolated one.
An intense silence permeated the boat, with only the low hum of machinery to accompany everyone’s thoughts. They were all just obeying orders but could not remove the huge collective responsibility from their shoulders. In a few moments, they would unleash the most devastating act of war in human history.
The sub was at launch depth with the external missile hatch open. Only a presidential order could stop the process now. Just like they’d done in the many practice drills, the two radio officers were following the dual-key procedure. The only difference this time was that they were both drenched in sweat and one of them was crying. Everyone felt the vibrations as the missile launched, there really was no need for the confirmation of the PA system. They all watched the scene on the monitors as the compressed air system pushed the missile to the surface and high into the air, where its rocket motors sprang into life and lit up the sky. Everyone continued to sit in silence for the next few minutes.
‘Close hatch, three hundred feet, thirty knots, maintain course. She’s yours Number One,’ Allen murmured, as he rose from his chair. He headed back to his cabin and the bottle of Jack Daniels in the second drawer of his filing cabinet.
‘OK, let’s pick our spot,’ said Omar as he manoeuvred the 4x4 through the streets of the ruined town.
‘What about that big place on the left there?’ asked Abdul.
‘I think we need to be well away from something which might fall on us,’ replied Omar.
‘Hey, now you really have got me worried,’ said Joseph, looking across to Abdul.
‘Come on man, tell us what you know,’ demanded Joseph.
‘Ah that’s more like it, over there, behind those old olive trees, that small gully,’ continued Omar. ‘I…’
The Leatherman’s razor-sharp wave-edge blade was pressing firmly on his left jugular.
‘Now let’s have a few proper answers please,’ said Joseph as he wiggled the knife just enough to graze the skin on Omar’s neck.
Omar stopped the vehicle and turned off the engine and said as calmly as he could: ‘It’s the Yanks; they’re going for an air-burst tonight.’
Both of his companions gasped loudly.
‘Bloody fools,’ exclaimed Joseph removing the knife from Omar’s throat and thrusting it deep into the vehicle’s grey leather dashboard.
‘Look, let’s get sorted and then we can discuss it some more,’ urged Omar. ‘We’ll get in that gully over there and set up the tent.’
The physical activity was a welcome relief from the mental torture that they were all now going through.
At almost 100 km from Tehran with the wind blowing in the opposite direction, surely the blast would not affect them this far out? The standard issue UMEA inflatable biological tent went up in minutes after they had evicted a few dozen scorpions from the spot they had chosen. Omar had sleeping bags and more food including several days of UMEA rations. He also had quite a bit of strange looking hardware that took up too much room in the small tent.
‘Do you really need all this in the tent? Can’t we leave it in the truck?’ asked Abdul.
‘Well, if we stay in the tent we might only pick up a few Sieverts. Wandering between the truck and the tent may result in no permanent damage, perhaps not to you, but any of your subsequent offspring may have a problem. In the worst case scenario, your skin might fall off, and you’ll go blind,’ replied Omar.
‘OK, you’ve made your point,’ replied Abdul. ‘How long do you think we’ll be in the tent?’
‘Five to ten days,’ said Omar quickly.
Abdul and Joseph stared hard at each other and continued to load Omar’s supplies into the tiny tent. Twenty minutes later and they were sitting cross-legged on the groundsheet watching Omar setup the Geiger Counter. The device was soon reporting a regular click-click, confirming that they were sat on top of a granite mountain range.
‘OK guys, time for your injections,’ announced Omar.
‘Shit, this really is it,’ exclaimed Joseph as Omar fumbled in the tent’s diode light for the anti-radiation kit.
At 02:32 local time, the ten independent 475 Kilo-Tonne warheads from Oklahoma’s missile exploded in a ring of simultaneous airbursts over Tehran. It was as if the sun had come to Earth. The equivalent to 316 Hiroshimas, it was a combination that ensured the maximum fatalities and destruction from the pressure wave and firestorm. The population of 20 million were killed instantly. The city was completely flattened and burnt. Concrete, glass, steel and brick shattered, exploded and fused into a shining white-hot lake. The oxygen for kilometres around the city was consumed in an instance, and the pressure wave sped out across the surrounding desert at supersonic speed. High above the white beacon of the mushroom cloud rushed upwards into the troposphere.
