The Extinction Files Box Set

by A. G. Riddle

  “Antarctica?” Raghav said, shocked.

  “Nice,” Langford said. “Dude, you should have just led with the Antarctica part.”

  “I hate the cold,” Melanie muttered.

  The other developer, a redhead named Kevin, looked concerned. “I don’t understand. Who’s going to come looking for us?” He paused, but no one responded. “Government? Mafia?”

  “It’s no one like that,” Desmond said. “It’s someone who needs Rendition for an experiment. They’re scientists, but I’ve recently learned they can be very ruthless.”

  “How long will we need to hide?” Kevin asked. “Months? Years?”

  “Years?” Melanie echoed.

  “What’re we going to eat?” Langford asked. “Seals? Penguins? I’m not eating fish for a year—”

  “Seals aren’t fish,” Melanie said. “They’re mammals, you idiot.”

  “And penguins are birds,” Kevin added. “But no way I’m eating them. Or dolphins. Whales, either.” Before Melanie could say anything he shot her a look. “And yes, I know they’re mammals.”

  Desmond held up his hands. “Nobody’s eating any of that.”

  “How’s it going to work, Des?” Raghav asked, clearly trying to focus the conversation.

  “There’s a small outpost, for the construction workers. They’re building a hotel a few miles away. An ice hotel. Solar powered with geothermal heat.”

  Langford’s eyes went wide. “Nice.”

  “The construction crews can only work in the summer—that’s winter here. It’s a small staff, maybe twelve people.”

  “Is the hotel close to being complete?” Raghav asked. “Can people live there yet?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m only on the board and haven’t gotten an update recently. The construction workers’ habitat has plenty of room though.”

  “Well I’m in,” Langford said. “I’ll even eat penguin.”

  “Me too,” Kevin said. “Well, except for the penguin part.”

  “What if we don’t go?” Melanie asked. Then, tentatively, she added, “Unless you’re saying we have to—”

  “I’m not,” Desmond said quickly. “I’m hoping you will, though. If you don’t, I strongly urge you to go into hiding somewhere else. You can’t take your cell phone. No internet. No email. No calls.”

  Raghav looked at Melanie. “I’m going. And I think we need to stay together.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  They made arrangements after that. None of the four developers were married, but Raghav lived with his girlfriend, and Melanie had a sister in San Francisco. Desmond agreed that they could bring whomever they wanted, as long as they could leave tonight.

  The four left, packed, and met Desmond at the harbor in Santa Cruz just before sunrise.

  Raghav walked up to Desmond and dropped his bag. “What do we do when we get there?”

  Desmond had spent the time after the hotel extracting the Rendition server and software from the office. It sat in a crate on the dock.

  “How you pass the time is up to you. One request: don’t set up a satellite connection or use a phone. Just in case.”

  “Okay.” Raghav studied the boat. It was thirty years old, but recently retrofit. It was a research and survey vessel, seventy feet long, with a crew of five, berths for sixteen, and enough food and water for the trip. The hold was more than large enough for the Rendition equipment. It wouldn’t win any races, or awards for luxury—but it also wouldn’t draw much attention.

  Desmond had considered chartering a private flight to the small landing strip at the construction site, but that would have left a paper trail. The boat was the best play. The captain owned the vessel and rented it mostly to universities and researchers in the bay area. He had agreed to stay at the Antarctica facility until Desmond arrived—at a cost of four thousand dollars per day. Desmond had paid him two hundred thousand up front for the trip and agreed to settle up at the end. The man was eager to get underway.

  “There’s one more thing,” Desmond said to Raghav. “I’m going to Berlin next. I’ll be meeting with a scientist named Manfred Jung. Jung is going to help me alter my Rapture implant.”

  “Okay.”

  “Afterwards, I believe Jung and his team might become a target—like you and yours. So I’m going to send them to the Charter Antarctica construction camp as well. Keep an eye out for them.”

  “Sure.”

  “And take care, Raghav. I’ll see you soon.”

  From the dock, Desmond watched the boat slip out of view. Somewhere else in the Pacific, Avery was sailing away, waiting for him.

  The last few hours had been exhausting. The ships had sailed, but Desmond’s work had just begun. He took out his mobile phone and dialed the number he had found earlier that night.

  “Mr. Meyer, my name is Desmond Hughes. I want to talk to you about your article. About the Citium.”

  “What about it?”

  “You’re right. It’s a conspiracy. But you’ve only scratched the surface. I’m going to give you the biggest story of your life. Perhaps the biggest story in history…”

  Chapter 64

  The jet was old, a little worn, but it ran well and had everything Yuri needed. He sat in a plush leather chair at a table, his laptop open, a map with a tracking dot on the screen.

  It hadn’t moved in hours.

  Oklahoma City. Was that where Desmond had hidden it? Yuri counted that as unlikely.

  His phone rang. Citium Central Ops.

  Melissa Whitmeyer began her report without preamble. “Balloons are deployed.”

  “Coverage?”

  “Combined with the existing internet infrastructure, we’re at 72 percent globally. Over 90 percent in our primary nations.”

  Yuri exhaled. His moment was at hand. “Begin.”

  Whitmeyer paused. “I need you to—”

  “To say it?” Yuri didn’t blame her. “This is your official order, Miss Whitmeyer. Begin the Looking Glass transfer for vulnerable populations. You are also to target and execute our tier one adversaries.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “And when that’s done, issue a message to their replacements: turn over Desmond Hughes, Lin Shaw, and Peyton Shaw—or you will meet the same fate.”

  Chapter 65

  Desmond awoke on the floor, on top of a camouflaged sleeping bag. The air smelled of stale beer and fried food. He looked around. He was in a pub, the Cross Grain Brewhouse. It had a long bar with a brick wall and TVs, all of which were off. Two dozen wood-topped tables filled the place, condiments and rolls of paper towels sitting on top. Tall glass windows looked out on the runways of Will Rogers Airport.

  Lin, Peyton, Avery, and David Ward sat at one of the tables, talking quietly, concerned looks on their faces, like a family in a hospital waiting room, anticipating news about a loved one’s surgery.

  Desmond sat up. Avery saw him first. She bolted out of the chair and was at his side in seconds, her hand around the back of his neck, helping him up.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Just… still groggy and sore from the wringer Conner put me through.”

  Lin, Peyton, and Ward joined them.

  “What happened?” Ward asked.

  “In private,” Desmond said.

  Ward turned and led them through the airport, which was teeming with activity—troops and FEMA and federal and state agency personnel barreling through the corridors, the gates turned into makeshift briefing rooms. Desmond caught clips and phrases as they passed by: containment, armed and dangerous, further rationing, improvised attacks.

  “What’s going on?” Desmond asked.

  Ward didn’t look back. “The natives are getting restless.” A few steps later, he added, “If you can stop these people, you need to do it now, Hughes.”

  Avery glanced at him, a question in her eyes. Can you?

  He gave a solemn nod, and wondered if he believed it. Rendition was his life’s work. It was Yuri’s ke
y to finishing the Looking Glass—a project Desmond had thought he wanted at one time. But he was willing to destroy it now—if it meant saving Avery, and Peyton, and so many others, even if it doomed Conner to the miserable life he desperately wanted to escape.

  Ward led them past the Southwest Airlines ticket desk, into a room marked “YMCA Military Welcome Center.” Men and women in uniform sat at round picnic tables, eating from paper plates, drinking tea and water from Styrofoam cups. In a small room off the welcome center, Ward closed the door and sat at a conference table.

  “We’re secure here.”

  “I remember,” Desmond said.

  “Rendition?” Lin asked quickly.

  “Yes. I remember creating it, and where I hid it.”

  “Out with it, Hughes,” Ward muttered.

  “Antarctica.”

  Ward leaned back in the folding metal chair, pushing it onto two legs, and let his head fall back. He stared at the ceiling and then closed his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Explain,” Lin said, her voice even, lacking Ward’s frustration.

  “One of my portfolio companies. Charter Antarctica. We were building a hotel there when the X1 pandemic broke out. I sent Rendition there on a private boat—along with all four programmers who could re-create it. And the Rapture scientist who altered my implant.”

  “So,” Avery said. “We go there, destroy Rendition, and this is all over. The Looking Glass won’t work without it.”

  “Exactly,” Desmond said.

  “You didn’t destroy your creation before,” Ward said. “When you could have. Why should I believe you’ll do it now?”

  “Because now I’ve seen what they’re capable of. And what’s at stake.”

  “You knew the stakes before—”

  “This is pointless,” Lin said. “Desmond is the only one who can take us to Rendition.”

  “Us?” Ward smiled. “There is no us. You and your daughter are staying here.”

  “That would put you at a disadvantage.”

  Ward raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  “No one alive knows Yuri Pachenko better than I do. I prevented a bloodbath at the Isle of Citium.”

  “And then you took us on a wild goose chase to the North Pole. We lost a lot of people up there and got basically nothing in return. No way we’re going for a South Pole repeat.”

  “Apples and oranges, Mr. Ward.”

  Avery held up her hands. “Stop it.”

  The room fell silent. Outside, Desmond could hear shouting. Boots pounding the floor, a stampede.

  Avery pulled the door open. The welcome center was emptying, the troops leaving plates of barbecue and beans half-eaten, cups of tea still full.

  “Something’s wrong,” Lin said.

  They rushed out of the room, past the ticket counters and into the main concourse. There was a large projection screen set up at gate eighteen. It showed imagery from several drones from around the country, and perhaps around the world, judging by the varying amounts of sunlight. Balloons floated through the clouds. There were no baskets below. Each balloon carried only a solar cell with three panels and some kind of small metal device.

  Ward grabbed a major in the Oklahoma National Guard by the upper arm. “What’s happening?”

  “Don’t know. They just started appearing all over the world.”

  “So what? Why’s everyone panicking?”

  The man gritted his teeth. “We aren’t panicking, sir. We’ve been activated. And people are dying.”

  Peyton stepped forward. “Who’s dying?”

  “Sick, mostly. Terminally ill,” the major replied.

  Desmond saw Avery’s face fill with concern.

  Another wave of discussion went through the troops gathered around the screen, a rumor spreading like a virus.

  Desmond listened closely, and his mouth went dry when he realized what they were saying. The president of the United States was dead. Cerebral hemorrhage. So was the governor of Oklahoma—and every other state in the union.

  A sergeant ran up to the major. “Sir, Colonel Weathers needs to see you right now.”

  The major left without another word.

  Lin stepped into his place. “Mr. Ward, we need to go, right now.”

  Ward shook his head.

  She stepped closer to him and spoke quietly but with force. “Listen to me. Those balloons are Citium devices. Together with the internet, they are accessing Rapture nanites—the ‘cure’ you and your government distributed to stop the X1 pandemic. They are in control now. And Yuri’s next move will be to demand that the government hand us over. We need to go, the five us, alone. Right now.”

  Chapter 66

  Desmond’s eyes met Peyton’s, and he saw fear in them. That energized him. Her mother’s words had rattled her. They needed to move.

  “Ward, listen to her,” he said.

  Avery turned her head toward the end of the concourse, like a predator sensing a threat. Ten National Guard troops in camo were marching toward them. They passed deserted shops as they drew closer: Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, Harold’s Shoe Shine, EA Sports, CNBC.

  Desmond got Avery’s attention. “What’s the best way out?”

  “Lower level. Follow me.”

  Just like that, the decision was made. Avery broke from the group and began running, Lin behind her, then Peyton. Desmond glared at Ward, who shook his head.

  One of the National Guardsmen called out, “Agent Ward!”

  His voice echoed in the tall concourse, the sound bouncing off glass walls and hard floors.

  Eyes turned to them.

  Desmond and Ward joined the fleeing group.

  Avery was almost to the escalator.

  “Agent Ward! We need to speak with you!”

  Avery took the stairs three at a time, prancing down the inactive escalator like a cat scaling a mountainside. Peyton and Lin struggled to keep up.

  “Halt!”

  Desmond pulled ahead of Ward, then paused to let him catch up.

  Other troops were stirring now, joining the unit chasing them. Orders were called out, the meaning clear: stop them.

  At the bottom of the escalator, he just glimpsed Avery barreling through an emergency exit beyond the baggage claim. Lin and Peyton were trailing far behind, and Desmond and Ward soon caught up with them. The four of them burst onto the tarmac together, a gust of cold wind greeting them.

  Avery was already climbing the stairs to a Gulfstream jet, and the engines were running by the time the others reached it and pulled the staircase in.

  The tarmac filled with troops as the jet taxied down the runway, but they didn’t shoot. A fuel truck raced out and blocked the runway. Avery turned the jet and raced down another.

  As the jet took off and gained altitude, Desmond looked across the aisle to find Peyton looking at him, worry in her expression. He wondered if he could protect her.

  The laptop beeped. The tracking application displayed a message:

  Target in Motion

  Yuri watched the dot move away from Will Rogers Airport, southward.

  He grabbed his sat phone and called Conner.

  “It’s begun. We need to meet.”

  Next he called Melissa Whitmeyer. “I need to know if there are any Rapture devices on that plane we can control.”

  Chapter 67

  “Turn your phones off!” Lin yelled.

  All eyes turned to her.

  “Do it! Right now. Your life may depend on it.”

  It turned out only Ward and Avery had phones. Both turned them off.

  “Happy?” Ward said.

  “I did that to protect you.”

  Ward got out of his chair and moved up the aisle, stopping at Desmond’s chair, looming over him, still breathing hard from the frantic escape from the airport.

  “Answers, Hughes. Right now.”

  “You’ll get them.” Desmond stood and brushed past the burly man. “First things first.”


  Avery was in the cockpit, holding her side, breathing hard and talking with air traffic control, trying to convince them it was all a big mistake, that she didn’t in fact have Lin and Peyton Shaw and Desmond Hughes on board.

  “Hey,” Desmond whispered.

  She glanced back and held her hand tighter to her side. He saw blood oozing out around it.

  “You okay?” He stepped forward and took a closer look. There was a bandage over her abdomen. It was pink in the center and dark red at the edges.

  “I’m fine. Just pulled a stitch.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  “I am, Des. Relax. I just overexerted myself.”

  “You were shot?”

  “Shrapnel from a bomb on the Isle.”

  He studied her. “That was a heck of a leap from the second story.”

  “Didn’t have much choice. Thanks for covering me.”

  He smiled. “I’d cover you any time.”

  She deadpanned. “You wish.”

  He laughed. “Right.”

  She jerked her head and shouted into the radio. “Negative, OKC ATC, we cannot land at Chandler Field.”

  To him, she said, “What do you need?”

  “Fuel and range?”

  “Fully fueled. We’ll get maybe sixty-five hundred miles, depending on how fast we push her.”

  The Charter Antarctica base camp was too far. “We’ll have to refuel.”

  She worked the navigation system. “We need to get out of US airspace quickly. And probably avoid Mexico and Brazil.”

  “Best option?”

  “Get to the Gulf …”

  “And fly around South America?”

  “Take too long,” Avery said. “Where’s your site in Antarctica?”

  “Due south from Cape Town.”

  Avery studied the map. “We’ll fly south through the Gulf and cross to the Pacific at Panama. We’ll skirt the western edge of South America, go over the Andes, and land at Mar del Plata.”

  “What about Buenos Aires?”