Skyfire

by Michael Adams

  ‘What happened?’ Mr Adib asked breathlessly, bolting across the roof to her side, stopping by his daughter to take in the sight of the smoking pyramid. ‘Are you OK?’

  Tears rolling down her cheeks, Yasmin nodded numbly and reached out to grasp her father’s arm. ‘A p-plane—fired a missile into the pyramid and then crashed in the desert.’

  Mahmoud skidded to a stop next to them and gasped. ‘Was it an accident?’

  Yasmin shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  They stood in shocked silence.

  ‘Look,’ her brother said, holding up his phone for Mr Adib to see. ‘It’s already on the internet.’

  The men’s eyes filled with tears as they watched footage of the attack uploaded from a tourist’s phone. But Yasmin didn’t need to relive the horror. She sat heavily, head in her hands, on the edge of the lounge. After a few moments, her mind went back to the mysterious symbols on her phone.

  Two symbols now took on a sinister meaning.

  ‘Khufu, plane … Zeus … lightning bolt,’ she murmured. ‘I-I don’t believe it …’

  And yet, there it was—the hieroglyph of the pharaoh whose pyramid had just been attacked, beside what Zander had said was a bolt from the heavens!

  Yasmin tried to tell herself she was just in shock. There was no way text messages could’ve predicted the disaster. Surely the timer couldn’t have counted down to the attack. It had to be a coincidence. It just wasn’t possible.

  But deep in her heart, Yasmin felt the truth. Somehow, the First Sign had pointed to this horrific act.

  Yasmin jumped up as black helicopters swooped low over the Giza rooftops and more fighter jets streaked through the sky.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Mahmoud yelled. ‘Is it a war?’

  Yasmin thought it was even worse than that. To her this felt like it might be the beginning of the end of the world.

  ‘Everyone, downstairs!’ Mr Adib shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘Now!’

  Inside the secret headquarters, bathed in a golden glow, the Signmaker leaned forward in an expensive leather seat, totally absorbed in a bank of screens and HoloSpaces. With money and resources virtually unlimited, the Signmaker was surrounded by ultra-modern, limited edition and, in some cases, one-of-a-kind computer and communications technologies. TV news, hacked satellites and surveillance cameras showed smoke billowing from the Great Pyramid and the jet’s wreckage burning out in the Egyptian desert. Social media and phone networks were going crazy. The Signmaker smiled. The world was watching, talking, wondering—even if they didn’t know why yet—and that was even before they learned that a second disaster was unfolding in another part of Egypt.

  With laser-like focus, the Signmaker’s attention switched to real-time footage of Giza. Short, sharp voice commands brought up a clear image of Yasmin and her father and brother. Audio came via the family’s own smart phones.

  ‘Everyone, downstairs,’ Mr Adib barked. ‘Now!’

  With another voice command, the Signmaker adjusted the satellite image. The Egyptian detective and his men were in place outside Yasmin’s family store.

  The Signmaker was pleased. The Cairo cop had been paid to make sure the DARE Award winner was safe. It looked like he was doing his job.

  The Signmaker nodded. Everything was going perfectly to plan.

  ‘So, this is Bogotá,’ Isabel said. ‘What do you think? Worth the trouble?’

  The girls had left before dawn to reach La Calera lookout and watch the sun rise. Colombia’s striking capital city was also spread out below them as far as the eye could see. It was an almost endless sprawl of buildings, from hillside shanty towns to suburbs of low-rise apartments to shining skyscrapers, all framed by the distant green mountains.

  ‘Si,’ Mila said, smiling as she stifled a yawn. ‘Worth it, yes.’

  Keeping awake all night hadn’t been their only trouble that morning.

  Isabel’s neighbourhood adjoined some of the poor shanty towns, or favelas, where people sometimes found themselves in the crossfire between police and gangs.

  While she had grown used to occasional nights interrupted with shouts and gunshots, she hoped Mila wouldn’t have to endure any disturbances during her brief visit. The favelas had been quiet overnight, thankfully, but her guest hadn’t been entirely spared the pleasure of seeing Colombia’s security forces in action. That was because their early-morning taxi had been stopped twice at police checkpoints. As much as Isabel was against the gangs that intimidated her city, President El Cerco’s heavy security policy could seem every bit as scary, like a cure that was as bad as the disease.

  ‘Photo?’ Mila said now. The girls huddled in the morning chill while she held her phone out to snap them. They admired the selfie.

  With her red boots, blue jeans, lime bomber jacket and pink hair, Isabel looked like a punk rainbow in the morning light. She was a total contrast to Mila, whose green eyes were the only spots of colour against her pale face, black short hair, black jumper and skirt. What they had in common were warm smiles for each other.

  ‘Nice,’ Isabel said.

  Mila nodded. She used her phone to take a photo of Bogotá below them. ‘This is so different to my home.’

  ‘You mean the poverty and the soldiers?’ Isabel couldn’t help being aware that the other DARE Award winners came from wealthier and safer backgrounds than she did.

  ‘True, this is different,’ Mila agreed. ‘But it is not what I mean. What is to me so amazing is for so many strangers to all live so close together, yes?’

  ‘Eight million,’ Isabel said, eyes on Bogotá’s sprawl. ‘Give or take half a million. No-one really knows for sure.’

  ‘I am living in Antarctica with one hundred and seventy people at Villa Las Estrellas,’ Mila said. ‘Everyone knows everyone.’

  ‘Villa Las Estrellas,’ sighed Isabel. ‘“Star town”—what a lovely name. No wonder you want to be an astronaut.’

  Mila blushed a little. ‘It is the dream for me. Not as important as your dream to build neighbourhood art centres for the children.’

  ‘Ha!’ Isabel said. ‘Reaching for the stars, what could be bigger than that? Whatever you want, dream big or don’t bother—that’s my motto!’

  Mila laughed and snapped some more photos.

  ‘Hey, it’s nearly time,’ said Isabel, holding up her phone to show the Games Thinker website as it entered its last sixty seconds.

  ‘One minute,’ Mila nodded. ‘What do you think is going to happen?’

  Isabel shrugged. ‘Probably nothing.’

  They stood side by side, heads together, and Mila giggled as her friend counted down the seconds like it was New Year’s Eve.

  ‘Tres, dos, uno!’

  Nothing happened. And then the timer reset and the words all disappeared.

  ‘Pah!’ Isabel said. ‘No big solution to the puzzle!’

  Mila smiled. ‘Maybe we have been given more time to figure it out?’

  Isabel shrugged and glanced to where their taxi driver was waiting in the car park. She could hear the soccer game he was listening to on the radio.

  ‘I want to show you my favourite cafe,’ she said. ‘Feel like some breakfast?’

  Mila’s stomach rumbled.

  ‘I’ll take that as a “yes”.’

  The girls burst out laughing.

  Their cabbie drove them back into the city along the winding mountain road, past apartment buildings and mini malls set into the steep inclines, getting ever more excited by the soccer game on the radio.

  ‘After breakfast we could go to Usaquén,’ said Isabel. ‘It’s this funky little village inside the city centre and there’s an awesome market on Sundays. Plenty of stuff to buy and good music to listen to.’

  Mila nodded enthusiastically. ‘Antarctica has many penguins—but markets not so much.’

  Isabel laughed. She liked Mila’s quirky sense of humour.

  ‘Defence, defence!’ the cabbie said, thumping his hand on the steerin
g wheel. The soccer crowd erupted with a roar as the announcer shouted, ‘Goal!’

  ‘Gah!’ the driver cried. ‘Hopeless.’ In disgust at his team, he angrily changed the radio station.

  ‘… Great Pyramid in Egypt,’ a sombre male voice was saying. ‘Witnesses report—and videos confirm—that a military fighter jet fired a missile at the ancient monument before crashing into the desert. At this time there’s no confirmation as to the extent of the damage to the structure or loss of life.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Isabel said, face ashen.

  ‘Yasmin—her house,’ Mila said softly, eyes glittering, ‘is close to there, yes?’

  Isabel gulped, pulled out her phone, frantically bringing up Yasmin’s number.

  Mila looked on, biting her lip. Isabel shook her head. ‘Voicemail,’ she said. ‘Let’s not panic. I’ll try again in a little while.’

  After skirting the edge of Bogotá’s glitzy fashion and tech precincts, the cab dropped them off in the historic Candelaria district. Isabel anxiously led Mila along a cobblestone street to Magdalena’s, a cafe on the ground floor of an old colonial building. It was noisy with people chattering as they watched the news on wall screens and checked social media on their phones for updates.

  Isabel and Mila stood transfixed, horrified by footage of the attack.

  ‘… no death toll has yet been announced,’ a news anchor was saying, ‘but Sunday is one of the busiest tourist days at the pyramids …’

  ‘Come,’ Isabel said, leading Mila to an empty space at a long shared table. It was covered with paper so people could doodle with crayons while they ate. Looking around, Mila saw that the walls of the cafe were decorated with the artwork left behind by customers. Isabel called Yasmin again. She shook her head. ‘Still no answer.’

  ‘Hola, Isabel,’ said a waiter, approaching their table. ‘You heard the news? One of your DARE friends is from Egypt, aren’t they?’

  Isabel nodded.

  ‘Any word on her?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Isabel said. ‘We’re a little worried.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s all right,’ the waiter said.

  ‘Thanks,’ Isabel said. ‘By the way, Pablo, this is Mila.’

  Pablo gave a little wave. ‘Of course. I saw you on TV. Welcome to Bogotá.’

  ‘Gracias,’ Mila said, colour rising in her cheeks.

  The waiter gazed back at the wall screen and shook his head. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘A crazy person, that’s who,’ Isabel said sternly.

  Pablo sighed. ‘Too many of them in the world.’ He took out his order pad. ‘Girls, can I get you anything?’

  Isabel looked at Mila. ‘OK for me to order?’

  Mila nodded.

  The waiter jotted down her choices and was reading back the order to Isabel when her phone rang.

  ‘Hi guys,’ JJ said, frowning behind SmartGlasses as he checked his phone. ‘Have you heard about Egypt?’

  ‘Of course,’ Isabel said. ‘We’re watching it now.’

  ‘We have tried to call Yasmin but it goes to voicemail,’ Mila added.

  ‘Me, too,’ JJ gulped. ‘The news just said three people are confirmed dead so far but that hundreds more are injured.’

  Isabel and Mila glanced at the wall screen, now showing the same update.

  JJ nodded. ‘I’m going to try to loop in the others.’

  He tried calling Andy and Dylan, but their phones both went to voicemail. ‘Makes sense,’ Isabel said. ‘They probably wouldn’t be up yet.’

  But Zander answered immediately, his image appearing on Isabel’s and JJ’s screens. He was in his bedroom, amber eyes worried behind SmartGlasses.

  ‘Egypt,’ he said simply, ‘it is just terrible.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Yasmin?’ Isabel asked.

  ‘I could not get through,’ he replied.

  ‘That’s what we’re worried about,’ JJ said fretfully.

  ‘The phone networks in Egypt are probably in meltdown because so many people are trying to call,’ Zander said. ‘We should stay calm.’

  ‘Calm!?’ Isabel cried. ‘I’m not feeling very calm about this!’

  At her side, Mila nodded.

  ‘Yasmin will be safe,’ Zander said. ‘Think about it. She and her family have lived by the pyramids their whole lives. Why would they go there today?’

  Mila’s tense shoulders relaxed a little and she looked at Isabel. ‘This makes sense, yes?’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Isabel said. ‘But I’m still going to freak out until we know for sure that Yasmin’s safe.’

  JJ clicked his fingers. ‘With everything that’s happened in Egypt, I nearly forgot.’

  ‘Forgot what?’ Isabel asked.

  JJ shrugged. ‘Not that it’s important now but I think I figured out what my part of the First Sign meant.’

  They waited for him to go on.

  ‘OK, so I did get a symbol. It’s not an “A”, it’s alpha, the first letter of the Greek alphabet. I think it’s meant to symbolise “beginning”.’

  Zander slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I should have seen it! But the NE threw me off. Sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault,’ JJ said. ‘It got past all of us. I also—’

  ‘And it ties in with my Zeus symbol,’ Zander cut in.

  ‘What I was about to say,’ JJ said a little testily, ‘was I think the NE stands for north-east. The numbers might be coordinates, you know, longitude and latitude so you can find things on a map.’

  ‘Some silly puzzle doesn’t matter now,’ Isabel snapped, ‘not with Yasmin in danger.’

  ‘Guys!’ Everyone fell silent at Mila’s raised voice. ‘The symbol of the pharaoh who built the pyramids? The Zeus bolt that comes from the sky like the missile from the jet? The First Sign—it is like a … prediction?’

  All eyes went to Mila.

  Beside her, Isabel gasped. ‘The countdown! Please don’t tell me—’

  ‘Yup,’ JJ said, looking up from his phone. ‘I just checked. The timer hit zero fifteen minutes ago—right when the pyramid was attacked.’

  They were silent for a long, heavy moment.

  ‘No.’ Zander shook his head. ‘A coincidence—it has to be.’

  ‘I wish it was,’ JJ said, eyes wide with fear. ‘I’ve just texted you all something.’

  Ringtones echoed as his message was received.

  ‘Are these … coordinates?’ Zander asked.

  JJ nodded.

  ‘For where?’ Isabel. ‘It can’t—’

  ‘It is,’ JJ said gravely. ‘Put the numbers in that order and you get …’

  All eyes were on him. JJ gulped and forced himself to keep speaking.

  ‘You get the longitude and latitude of the Great Pyramid of Giza.’

  The television in the Adib family lounge room showed news-chopper footage of Giza’s streets, jammed with panicking people and honking cars. As Yasmin and her family watched in horror, the camera zoomed in on men in woollen masks with guns carrying electronic goods from a shattered shopfront.

  ‘Looters,’ Mr Adib said in disgust, eyes flicking towards the store’s steel shutter. ‘Those criminals are using this chaos as an excuse to run rampant.’

  Shouts rang loudly from the street just outside the shop. Mr and Mrs Adib hugged Yasmin and Mahmoud tighter to them on the couch, while Radha clutched her worry beads and murmured a prayer.

  Now the television flashed to shaky footage of a handcuffed man in an air-force jumpsuit being dragged along a desert road by heavily armed soldiers.

  Seeing the camera, the terrified pilot screamed a single word before he was bundled into the back of a black van, which immediately roared off in a flurry of dust.

  ‘What did he say?’ Mr Adib asked.

  ‘“Offline”‘ Yasmin said. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Maybe it was an accident,’ Mahmoud mused.

  The screen now cut to a grey-haired news anchor trying to appear in contr
ol. ‘As you can see, amateur footage of the pilot’s capture has been released,’ he said. ‘From the uniform, it seems the as-yet-unidentified man who flew the F-16 fighter jet is an Egyptian Air Force officer. Authorities have not yet issued a statement. The question everyone’s asking now is whether this was a deliberate attack or the result of a terrible technological malfunction.’

  Suddenly, urgent red words flashed across the screen— —as the news channel showed a new horror almost as hard to believe as the pyramid attack. A super-cargo ship—half a mile long and ten storeys tall—was burning out of control in the narrow Suez Canal. Standing amid reeds on the shore, a safe distance from the unfolding disaster, a female reporter tried to make sense of what was happening.

  ‘About twenty minutes ago, the Futura, which is one of the world’s largest ships, experienced a catastrophic engine meltdown,’ she said. ‘A blaze has ripped through the cargo decks with fire-control systems failing.’

  Boom! Boom!

  The reporter flinched, then whirled around as the camera zoomed in on orange flames flaring from splits along the Futura’s massive steel hull.

  ‘What you’re hearing and seeing,’ she said shakily, ‘appear to be explosions originating from the cargo holds. While the crew has evacuated safely, authorities say it’s only a matter of time before the ship sinks, blocking the Suez Canal and plunging Egypt deeper into crisis.’

  Twenty minutes ago, Yasmin thought.

  That meant the Futura engine had gone into meltdown just as the jet’s missile slammed into the Great Pyramid.

  At zero on the countdown!

  Yasmin glanced at her phone. She had missed calls from Isabel and Mila and Zander. She knew they’d be worried and she’d call them just as soon as she could. But what made her heart sink was that the phone’s screen still showed a countdown on the Games Thinker website.

  What was it ticking down to now?

  Yasmin didn’t know. But she knew it could not be anything good.