The Hades Facility: 'In the darkest depths, lay your darkest fears...' (The Prometheus Series Book 1)

by Oliver Tuson

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  Epilogue

  The Hades Facility

  Prometheus Series

  Book 1

  Oliver Tuson

  Copyright © 2019 Oliver Tuson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the authors imagination and any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  To Summer and Toby.

  May your lives be full of many rich and varied experiences. Experiences that can blend seamlessly with your own curious imaginations so that one day, you too, can create stories of your own.

  “It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is most adaptable to change.”

  Charles Darwin.

  Prologue

  This was the future. The future of warfare. Maybe even the future of peace? Professor Morgan scratched at his greying beard as his thoughts danced around in his head. His life works had finally come to a success and were there… somewhere in the dark murky fluid before him.

  Bringing peace to the world with his achievements…with his weapons. He liked the thought of that. He liked that very much. Either way, he would become a world leader in his unique scientific field. He would be held in the highest regard, just like the old greek scientists who he admired so very much. The scientists and philosophers from the golden age of discovery. Soon, his name would be as famous as theirs. A thin smile crept over his ageing face as he pondered that.

  Once his work was made public, and the government finally fielded his new weapons, he…Professor Richard Morgan… would be a great success. The pinnacle of scientific achievement for all the ages. Creator of the ultimate weapons of mass destruction. Weapons that would ultimately bring peace to the world. Although, he thought to himself as he stared into the murky abyss, god or evolution, depending on your views, had done the bulk of the work. He had merely fine-tuned it. Combined the best of nature, to develop the worst of nature.

  His thoughts were shattered as he heard the sound of Sarah’s high heels on the cold metallic floor. The sound echoing in the otherwise silent laboratory. His personal assistant approached but stopped a short way behind him. No matter how important her message was, she knew better than to interrupt the professor when he was deep in his thoughts, as he all too often was. She unconsciously touched the bruising on her forearm. No, she wouldn’t make that mistake again, not after the last time she dared disturbed the man’s thinking time. Instead she waited anxiously whilst biting her lip, hoping he would acknowledge her soon.

  Morgan could sense her discomfort and his thoughts returned to the present. Away from his successes and the future. Back to the now. “What is it Sarah?” He said, almost disappointedly.

  “Apologies sir, but you are required in sector four’s lab. It’s…urgent.” Her voice sounded worried, almost panicked. But then again, she normally did, he thought to himself. He had always suspected that deep down she had a certain moral concern with the great work they were doing here. And the work they did here had no place for weak minded people. If peace comes at a certain moral price, then Morgan would pay it. All too happily he would pay it.

  A smile edged over his face as he remembered back to a time when a few of his employees had developed a sudden attack of moral responsibility. That did not end well for them. The rumours of their… disappearance… had helped keep the other staff in check. Others like Sarah he thought, who was now fidgeting impatiently behind him.

  He let out a sigh and brought his thoughts back to work. Back to sector four’s lab. That team had done creative work down there. No weak-minded workers there he mused, thinking of the progress the team of scientists had made recently under the newly promoted manager, Doctor Ahmed. Morgan had been in two minds to promote the man. He had reason to question his loyalty on a few occasions recently. But then again, the risk had paid off and the results were spectacular. Either way, Morgan would keep a close eye on the rising manager and his future loyalty.

  He was about to turn towards Sarah to discuss the issue when the dark water moved slightly. Ripples gently radiating out on the surface of the fluid. A sinister grin crept across the professor's wrinkled face as his eyes tried to see deep into the darkness before him. As he approached the large thick glass tank and placed his hand on it, almost trying to feel the success he had created in there, the water within stirred again. More aggressively this time. The black fluid moving around the tank and lapping up the glass.

  Behind him, Sarah put her hand to her ear as a message was sent over her radio. “Sir, they need you now! Sir!” Her voice continued to sound worried. Without looking back, he raised a hand to silence her and continued to stare into the darkness of the tank. He was fixated by it. His eyes glaringly searching within.

  “Sir….” Her panicked words were cut short. An alarm wailed to life and the darkness of the room was shattered by glowing red warning lights flashing around. Professor Morgan spun round, his face a picture of rage. “What is it damn it!” he spat at the young assistant, making her jump slightly at the sudden aggressiveness of the old man. She stared blankly back. Her look slowly turning to surprise and fear.

  “Well?!” he demanded, but she stepped back away from the professor. Behind him, he sensed movement. He could feel it there. In the darkness. His work. His success. He slowly turned to face the tank. The glowing red warning lights dancing across the liquid that was now beginning to drain away from the massive tank. He stared with awe as the black fluid disappeared revealing all the success of his years of hard work.

  A burst of movement erupted in front of him and the room suddenly started spinning around violently. A blur of colours and lights flashing around that stopped as he felt his head hit the metallic floor hard. The room spun for a final turn, more slowly this time before coming to a gentle stop.

  Panic clawed at him as he realised he couldn’t feel his body. He tried to scream but nothing came out. Only the sound of a faint wet gurgle that died in his mouth.

  In his final moments as the darkness was closing in, he could just make out Sarah stumbling backwards. Her face white with fear as she screamed in terror at the professor’s decapitated head that was staring up at her.

  1

  The Promise

  10:05, 10th May 2003

  Special Forces Military Base, England, UK

  Captain Rae Clarke needed a change. He needed to get away from it all. Away from all the pain and guilt that currently
haunted him. Away from the regret and torment of the choices and decisions he had made. “Times a good healer son,” his commanding officer told him as Clarke tried to hand in his resignation after a long talk. Clarke had always liked working under Major Redwood and had grown to respect him over the past few years in his command.

  The major leant across the imposing old fashioned desk and looked calmly into Clarke’s eyes before continuing. “Give it six more months to be sure,” he said in his deep fatherly like voice as he slid the papers back over the desk into Clarke’s hands. The older officer offered a warm smile to help ease the idea into Clarke’s mind.

  “In the mean time, I’ve got just the position for you…” He raised the tone of his voice as if somehow completely changing the conversation to a sales pitch and away from the tragic conversation they had been discussing only minutes before.

  “Task Force Sixty-Four. All the way over in Iraq. Hunting for the elusive weapons of mass destruction.” The major didn’t give Clarke time to respond but instead kept talking as he sat back into his antique leather chair that creaked with its fine age.

  “As I’m sure you know, the initial invasion is done and has been successful. The coalition has removed all the key players from power. All our forces are now fully entrenched in their various locations around the country. But the coalition…” He paused as he tapped the leather arm rest of his chair in beat with the words for emphasis, “has to find the nukes!” He paused again for a second. “And quick.”

  Clarke was well aware of the situation in Iraq. He had enthusiastically volunteered to go with the initial invasion force but was denied. Command had wanted him to stay in the counter terrorism role he was currently doing. Although he wasn’t happy with the decision, he understood it. Every solider couldn’t simply down tools in one unit to join the fight in another on the far side of the world.

  Instead, Clarke kept abreast of the unfolding situation in Iraq from military updates and a few of his friends that did get the chance to go and fight in the deserts of Iraq. Along with that, the war was fought on the screens of all new technology with the help of the internet. The most publicised war to date. So, he had no problem catching up on the events via the global news channels as they reported the progress of the coalition as they eventually overthrew the regime and established the Green Zone in the middle of Baghdad. An area fully secured by the coalition forces where the powers that be could run the country and decide its future. He had watched on CNN as President Bush declared the major combat phase of the war complete from the deck of the American aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln only nine days ago. And Clarke knew the major was right. They had found no weapons yet. No weapons of mass destruction as promised by the politicians of the coalition governments. So now the hunt would be on for them to justify the war to the public and all the opposition to the military action in Iraq.

  Major Redwood stood up out of his chair with a sigh that betrayed his age and walked towards a large window overlooking the empty parade ground. The dull miserable weather outside sent rain hitting hard against the glass. Something caught the officer’s attention out there and he calmly stared out for a few seconds before continuing.

  “Task Force Sixty-Four, or TF64 if you will, is an intelligence unit. It is made up of intelligence officers, data analysts, interpreters, drone pilots, surveillance coordinators and all manner of tech departments.” He stole his gaze from the view from the window and looked back at Clarke. “Their only mission is to hunt any leads for the location and proof of the weapons of mass destruction.” He could sense Clarke was about to protest and raised his hand to stop him.

  “Now I know you're not a tech geek son,” he said before Clarke could talk. “But they also keep a twelve man special forces element attached to the task force. Three teams of four to assist with their investigating and searching.” He pointed at Clarke in a manner that said the decision about him going to Iraq was now already made.

  “Anything they need, you do. They need surveillance done, you go watch. They find a possible location. You go check.” He changed his tone slightly. “They need someone pulled off the street to …question.” The raised tone made Clarke tilt his head questionably at his commanding officer, who simply continued on. “You go fetch and interrogate. It’s that simple son.”

  The major moved back to his desk and leant against it, casually half standing and half sitting. “The government wants results…. it needs results! You’ll have all manner of assets at your disposal. If you need it, you’ll get it. The task force must get results and our government will fund anything to make sure of it.”

  He gave Clarke a nod as he stood up and moved back towards his chair and eased himself back into it again. The leather groaned as it took the man’s weight. Once comfortable, the major took a deep breath before speaking, as if gaining the courage to talk about the most difficult part of his sales proposal. “You’ll be team leader for bravo team. Three men in your command as per standard.” The major leant in towards Clarke again, his eyes questioning him before he even continued speaking. “You ok with that?”

  Clarke considered it. The thought of leading a team again so soon after the event that had cost him the lives of his men and driven him to the edge of sanity sat on his mind. He had come here to hand in his resignation. To leave all this behind him. Not to get sent the other side of the world on a hunting mission. And the major could see it all in Clarke’s deep blue eyes as he thought it over.

  “Trust me son. You need this. And you can do this with ease. Go to Iraq, get your head together and come back. Time away from this unit will change your mind.” He nodded towards the papers in Clarke’s hands. His fists unconsciously clenched tightly around the documents as he thought about the past that had almost broke him.

  “That is a mistake, and your better than it.” The major paused, looking closely at Clarke before changing his inflection to a softer one. “Listen to me carefully captain. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.” Clarke looked away as if to dismiss his commanding officer and end the conversation. Instead the major continued on regardless.

  “You were put in an impossible situation. One that you ultimately had no control over. You're a fine solider, one of the best operators I’ve seen and had the pleasure to command. What happened on that operation wasn’t your fault. You saved lives, many young lives. And that was your job, remember that…”

  “But not my team…” Clarke injected without hesitation. His voice thick with pain and regret. The major dipped his head and sighed, knowing they had discussed this issue several times already. “Don’t let this end your career son… or you, for that matter.” Clarke caught a glimpse in the older man’s eyes that betrayed the knowledge he had. He knew Clarke had considered ending it all. The grief overwhelming him on too many occasions as his memories wouldn’t let go. His mind keeping him a prisoner of the past. A past that wouldn’t let him forget as long as he lived.

  Clarke’s mind started to take him back. Back to that afternoon. Back to his decisions. Back to the smell of fire and smoke. The death coming back to him. Back to his team that he would never see again. To the team he had failed.

  “Anyway…” the fatherly voice said, sensing the conversation was heading down a dark path once again. “What do you say?” Major Redwood finally added causing Clarke to shake off his thoughts. Clarke doubted it, but maybe he was right. Maybe he did need to get away. Maybe TF64 was just what he needed for now. Maybe time would heal the past… eventually.

  Clarke stood up and walked over to the window where the major had been looking so intensely earlier. At the end of the parade ground, silhouetted by the dark storm clouds, stood a row of flag poles displaying the base’s various units. In the centre stood a taller one. Its Union Jack at half-mast. The tribute to fallen soldiers killed in service to the country, flying violently in the worsening storm. “Ok sir,” he answered the major after a thoughtful pause, whilst in his mind, as he watched the flag snapping in the wind, he pr
omised himself that he would never lose a team member again.

  2

  New Beginnings

  03:30, 15th August 2003

  Northern Baghdad, Iraq

  Three months later Clarke was onboard a CH-47 Chinook Helicopter flying low over the Baghdad skyline. The twin rotors cutting through the night sky with ease as Clarke sat quietly listening to the relaxing drone of the engines. The major had been right. Working for TF64 for the past three months had been a change. The heat was the first change he thought, remembering stepping out of the C-130 Hercules airplane at Baghdad International Airport for the very first time.

  The plane had carried him in to the country from RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire. The aircraft, even with refuelling stops along the way had somehow managed to keep the temperature of the UK. As the rear door of the aircraft started to descend, the hot air burst into the hull, instantly making Clarke gasp in the sudden change. The hot air smelt arid and full of grit and dust. A unique smell of the middle east.

  “You’ll get used to it sir,” said one of the airforce crew as they went about their tasks. The airman no doubt having been back and forth from the country on numerous logistics trips and grown accustomed to it. The airman was wrong however. Clarke had yet to adjust to the extreme heat that made him sweat almost constantly throughout the day and well into the warm evenings.

  The past three months had been busy for Clarke and TF64. Working out of a well-maintained building deep in the Green Zone. They had barely stopped. Plenty of surveillance operations on various targets and houses in the sprawling hot, dusty city. Almost daily close protection escorts for any non-military personnel moving from the Green Zone to other allied bases or the airport. A few operations to capture high value targets. It was all a far change from the counter terrorist unit Clarke had been working in for the past few years. Far from home. Far from the cause of his guilt and failures that still plagued his mind. Was it a change as Major Redwood had promised, or was he just running away? Clarke still hadn’t decided.