The Gods of Laki

by Chris Angus

  Finlay looked from one man to the other. “Gentlemen, I’ve known the senator a long time. He’s a smart guy, but he knows as little about—what did you call them—Kaluza-something particles, as I do. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “Because,” said the President. “As near as Prescott’s eggheads can determine, the cosmic bombardment seems to center along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, seemingly connecting with the recent volcanic activity in Iceland. It’s a fair coincidence, wouldn’t you say, that this is where Senator Graham appears to have decamped just as his vote was needed?” He leaned forward, his dark eyes boring into the bewildered face of Charles Finlay. “What the bloody hell is your boss up to?” he asked.

  “I really don’t know what to say, Mr. President.”

  Thurman stared at him, trying to read whether he was telling the truth. Then he looked at Carlisle. “I want you to put together a team, Prescott, go to Iceland and find out what in blue blazes is going on.”

  “Yes, sir. Uh, what about the government over there?”

  “I’ve talked with their prime minister. He welcomes our assistance. I guess the whole place is in a panic. First the financial crisis and now earthquakes, eruptions, I don’t know what all. You’ll get complete cooperation. PM’s worried about reelection.”

  “And what about Senator Graham?”

  “He’s already missed the vote on my education bill, so who gives a shit about him? If he’s connected to this in some way, I’ll nail his hide up on the wall of the Lincoln bedroom. You hear from him, Charlie, you can tell him that. Son of a bitch is getting senile if you ask me. I think his incessant exercising and preening about his physique and all the bloody vitamins he takes was just an effort to mask his mental decline.”

  Finlay looked shocked. The senator’s fixation on health and longevity research was well known. The man had been at it for forty years. But his chief of staff was now as curious as the President as to what his boss was up to. He stood up.

  “I’ll certainly pass your message along, Sir, if the opportunity presents itself.”

  “You run across the man, you have my permission to piss on him!” said the President.

  ***

  Ali Akbari considered the man who had invited him to sit. Then he focused on the gun the man held. He sat.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Senator Graham. “Who is this?”

  Graham waved a hand. “Ryan Baldwin. He’s . . . uh . . . an employee of mine.”

  “Clearly you aren’t paying him enough,” said Akbari. “Would you like to work for me, Mr. Baldwin? I’ll pay double whatever the senator is paying.”

  “So far, no one’s paid me anything,” said Ryan. “Though the senator has threatened to destroy my business.”

  “What business would that be?” Akbari asked.

  “Thermal energy.”

  The Arab stared at him with a puzzled expression.

  “Mr. Baldwin tends to abide by his own rules,” said Graham. “He’s an . . . independent contractor.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Akbari. “What do you want?”

  “Right now?” Ryan looked at his watch. “Right now I want to go to Laki.”

  Graham sighed. “I hired him to protect my daughter. She’s on the volcano.”

  “Ah,” Akbari smiled as if some great truth had finally been revealed. “The annoying Miss Samantha Graham. Hmm. Perhaps we should join forces.” He looked at Graham. “Does he know about Rashid?”

  The senator shook his head.

  Akbari looked like he felt more in control now. “We may be on the same side at this juncture, Mr. Baldwin. You wish to protect the senator’s daughter. We wish to . . . dissuade . . . Rashid from his rash course of action.”

  A light went on in Ryan’s head. “You’re the Iranian minister of oil,” he said. “I thought you looked familiar. Somehow I don’t see us being on the same side of much.”

  “Actually, if you wish to protect Miss Graham, we may be. Rashid is something of a rogue in the energy business. Not unlike yourself. He plans to set off a nuclear device beneath Laki.”

  Ryan stared at the Arab. His mouth had turned desert dry. He felt a cold finger of sweat trace slowly down his side. The Iranians had already destabilized Laki. Now, it appeared, they were about to up the ante.

  “Are you all completely insane?” he asked.

  “There’s a great deal at stake, Mr. Baldwin,” said Akbari. “Perhaps the future of the human race will be affected by what’s happening on Laki. The senator understands. He’s been a longtime advocate for longevity issues.”

  Ryan shook his head. “I think the longevity thing is a red herring. It all comes down to money with you guys in the end.”

  “Money will be made, no question about it. But I admit I wouldn’t be averse to living for a thousand years. Would you? Rashid, on the other hand, is only interested in money. By causing Laki to erupt he hopes to alter world climate, making it much colder, thus increasing the value of his oil holdings.”

  “And yours, I would imagine,” said Ryan.

  “The plan is a fantasy. It will never work. But it does stand a good chance of destroying whatever is causing the longevity effect. The senator wouldn’t like that. I wouldn’t like that. The government of Iceland wouldn’t like it if their popular tourist destinations in the south were to be made radioactive for thousands of years.”

  Akbari looked up as they all heard the arrival of the helicopter. He cocked an eyebrow at Baldwin.

  “I don’t know which of you is crazier,” said Ryan. “But once we’re on Laki, I suspect we’ll find out.”

  ***

  Ryan stared down at the blasted landscape below. It looked different from the last time he was here. Now, steam vented from a hundred different locations. A new lava flow had emerged and begun to flow down the western slope. It moved like a river of liquid butterscotch, golden in color, as it wound its way into the valley.

  Sam was somewhere down in that haunted landscape, along with a dozen police officers, Jon Gudnasson, and maybe even a lunatic named Rashid. Soon, the United States Senate majority leader, the Iranian minister of oil and one very tired ex-Secret Service agent would be added to the mix.

  “Hard to believe anything could be alive down there,” said Graham, staring at the chaos below. “Let alone beneath the surface.”

  “She’s alive,” said Ryan. “She knows this place better than anyone. Sam’s got your blood in her veins, Senator. She’s too stubborn to die.”

  “I hope to God you’re right, Baldwin.”

  The pilot circled several times. He didn’t like the idea of landing, period.

  “Impossible to tell what’s on the surface,” he said. “There could be hot spots all over the place. We touch down on some lava that’s cooled just enough to look like rock and this baby will explode like the goddamned space shuttle.”

  Ryan stared off to one side. “How about over there—by the parking lot. I still see some vehicles down there and they haven’t caught on fire. Should be safe enough.”

  The pilot grunted, but he began to maneuver toward the opening. The chopper was being buffeted by thermals caused by the variations in heat below. Twice he touched down but was blown to one side before he could cut the engines.

  Finally, they touched hard and the pilot throttled back. They were down.

  “Get the hell off if you’re going,” he said. “I’m not staying here.”

  Akbari grabbed the man by the arm. “Take off and hover nearby until your fuel runs low. If we’re not back by then, go refuel and come back.”

  The man started to protest.

  Akbari said, “I will pay you one million dollars if you are here when we need you.”

  The pilot stared at him for a long moment, evaluating the seriousness of the offer. He knew the Iranian was filthy rich.

  “I’ll be here,” he said.

  ***

  Sam stood at the base of yet another venthole and stared up into the darkness.
Sergeant Stefansson was up there somewhere. He’d insisted on checking the newly discovered vent himself. Very chivalrous and all that. She knew she should have done it, since she was more at home down here.

  But something held her back. She was having those feelings of paranoia again. Almost overwhelming. Like a premonition that something bad was going to happen.

  So Stefansson had gone first. He’d been out of sight for almost ten minutes now. She tried calling to him, but there was no reply. It wasn’t all that surprising. The noises on Laki had grown from a vague background hum, like distant roadwork, to what now seemed an ever-present, if muted, din. Sudden gas releases like whistles, the crackling of bubbling lava . . . and other sounds. Indefinable ones. Like movement, but not of subterranean forces. More like some . . . thing. Almost—she thought she could hear voices.

  Once she could have sworn she heard someone crying. The distant wailing was terrifyingly real, and it sent chills down her spine. She tried to convince herself it was just another gas release, but she didn’t believe it.

  She played her light down the vent behind her, in the direction they’d come from. Her eyes had been playing tricks, like her ears. She couldn’t trust any of her senses. She was sure she was hallucinating.

  She tore her eyes away finally and looked back up the venthole. She called to Stefansson as loudly as she could, but there was no answer.

  “To hell with this!” she said out loud.

  She began to climb up the hole after the Sergeant. If not for gravity, she would have had little sense of direction at all. Going up, at least, seemed preferable.

  She climbed for several minutes. The sides of the vent were warm, but the going was easy enough. She stopped when she heard the strange wailing again. What the hell was that?

  Then she saw something moving ahead. Stefansson.

  She climbed quickly until she reached the dim figure. “Why didn’t you answer when I called?” she asked, breathlessly.

  She brought her light up and froze, as it played on Stefansson—or what she had thought was the Sergeant. For he was now a virtual part of the wall, covered in the strange tentacles. They grew out of his face and encircled his body. Sam stared into his sightless eyes. She could see tiny branches, like blood vessels, growing inside the whites of his eyes and even moving just under the surface of his skin.

  She screamed and dropped her light. It fell a long way down the tunnel. She gasped for breath, her heart beating like a sledgehammer. She had no idea what had happened to the Sergeant, but he was clearly beyond help.

  She was alone down here now. In the dark with no light. The distant wailing carried up the tunnel and she heard a sort of creeping sound, as though something were crawling over the Sergeant’s body.

  Her fear was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. For several minutes she simply froze, unable to go forward or back. The blackness was like an enormous weight, her imagination crafting all manner of horrors. Finally, through sheer force of will, she began to move forward, slipping past Stefansson’s body an inch at a time.

  There was nothing behind them but lava. She had to get around her friend’s body and hope that whatever had overcome . . . or devoured . . . him wouldn’t attack her as well.

  She felt a prickling sensation as she edged past him. Once by the horrific mass of tentacles that engulfed what had been Stefansson, she scrabbled up the tunnel, too terrified to do anything but crawl ahead in the darkness.

  After perhaps a hundred yards, she stopped out of sheer exhaustion. The tension and stress were draining. She slumped to the ground, feeling completely debilitated.

  She needed to get a grip on herself, goddamn it. She was no simpering, helpless female. That was the antithesis of who she was, and it angered her to feel this way. She thought of Ryan and wished he were here, realizing with a start how firmly he’d inserted himself into her feelings. She remembered his face when she’d agreed to go with Dagursson’s men. Something indefinable in it. Worry? Right now, she would have given anything to feel his strong arms around her.

  Her head jolted upright. There was the strange wailing again. This time it seemed closer. She turned her head from side to side, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. It was somewhere ahead. God, what she would give for a light.

  She had to move. Anything was better than sitting here in the dark. Slowly, she forced her feet forward. They felt encased in lead. One hand after the other gripped the sides of the tunnel. Only by concentrating on moving, putting everything else out of her head, was she able to function.

  After a few minutes, she realized she could see again. The tunnel walls pulled back to reveal a larger space, like a natural cavern. Far above, a source of light filtered down. New tunnels branched off in all directions. She had no idea which way to go, only that she had to keep moving. In spite of what every fiber of her being was telling her, she headed toward the wailing. It was a goal, the only one she had. She had no desire to confront whatever was making that awful sound, yet something compelled her.

  The horrifying lament rose and fell, occasionally resembling a whimper, then someone laughing. She began to wonder if it existed only in her mind.

  Then, suddenly, the sound was close. Her body very nearly ceased to function, so quickly had the strange cry gone from a distant goal to a presence that felt alive and very near. Only it had changed from a wailing to something now much more like language.

  She turned her head and saw an object on the wall beside her. It was almost as large as she was and looked vaguely human, but was covered with a spray of fine tentacles that she now realized covered the walls like tiny blood vessels. The figure was large, bloated-looking, but it resembled . . . a woman.

  It had stringy, grayish hair and pale skin. It was possible to see an expression . . . sort of . . . on the face. The tiny tentacles penetrated the body and pulsated. Despite their small size, they looked very old, like varicose veins long established.

  Then the thing spoke.

  Sam’s heart leaped straight into her throat. Here, deep underground, this strange entity attached to the wall appeared to be trying to communicate with her. It was madness. At first, the words were unintelligible, resembling the eerie wailing she’d heard earlier. But then she realized that the tone was almost familiar. Whatever this thing was, it spoke in ancient Norse, a language Sam knew only bits and pieces of. She needed Dr. Hauptmann.

  She racked her brain for a few words. Then, when she tried to speak, her mouth was as dry as sand and her voice cracked. “What are you?” she asked.

  The voice answered in a stream of words she couldn’t understand.

  She tried again. “Who are you?”

  The mouth opened and shut. The thing pulsated. Sam could see tiny bits of tentacles expanding beneath the surface of the skin, if it could be called anything remotely like skin.

  The mouth opened again. This time, like the release of a bit of vented gas, the thing said, “Ammmmaaaaaa.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The General entered the main cabin of Air Force Two. The plane had been commandeered from the Vice-President for this mission. The rear of the aircraft contained banks of computers and a military command center. No one who worked in this section entered the civilian cabin without express permission.

  Not that the President’s Science Advisor would have cared. Prescott Carlisle was too absorbed by the papers in front of him to even think about such mundane matters. He had a world of details to attend to and very little time. The Vice-Presidential plane offered the ability to work while traveling and maintaining instant communications with anyone in the world.

  A dozen others shared the passenger cabin with him. The men and women relaxed comfortably in their lounge-like seats, all of them hard at work, studying their briefing papers. It was probably the most talented bunch of scientists ever to fly anywhere together in the history of the world. Others would join them at their destination.

  The General stopped at Carlisle’s seat and waited
until Prescott looked up. “I have confirmation, sir,” he said. “Most of what you requested was on hand at the U.S. military base in Frankfurt.”

  Carlisle grunted and scanned the requisition list. It was long and at the top were the most urgent items: two full-size buses that would house the personnel and equipment necessary to their mission. The vehicles were highly specialized command centers that had been used in the past to deliver on-site scientific expertise anywhere in the world.

  Prescott reached over to the seat beside him, where a map of Iceland lay open. “You ever been to Iceland, General?”

  “No sir. Can’t say I’ve had the privilege.”

  “Well, it’s one forbidding goddamn piece of landscape, if this map is at all accurate. Few roads, only one major airport, population density outside of Reykjavik that wouldn’t rival a goat herders’ convention in Chile.”

  He stared at the map. “Place we’re going, Laki, is at the end of a dead-end spur that cuts off from the Ring Road. Bloody road crosses several rivers. And I mean without bridges, General. It’s a freaking miracle they don’t expect me to go in by reindeer.”

  The General smiled. “It is a tad remote, sir. But we’ll get you there.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s the equipment. What if our buses get bogged down in those rivers, for God’s sake?”

  “You’re to be accompanied by members of the Icelandic armed forces, sir. They’ll have heavy halftracks capable of pulling the buses through if they get mired down. It’s all been planned for.”

  “Have you received clearance for the C-17s to land at Keflavik airport?” Carlisle asked.

  “It’s all arranged,” the General said soothingly. He was used to dealing with civilians. “Soon as the C-17s touch down, the buses will offload and we’ll be on our way.”

  “We’re on schedule to meet them there?”

  “Precisely, sir. To the minute.”

  The President’s Science Advisor continued to worry. It was his job, and one hell of a lot was riding on him being successful. He searched the General’s face for reassurance, then gave him a weak thumbs up.