by David Cline
“A few years back I led a S.A.T.R.A. team to the northern shores of Antarctica. We were conducting some research down there. Only a short plane ride’s distance from Tierra del Fuego. The mornings were so cold, we would step outside the lab with a boiling pot of water and throw it into the air.” He snapped his fingers. “Instant mist.” He pointed a finger skyward. “That is the only thing I have to compare what is happening up there.”
“Hydrogen particles traveling 93 million miles, a little slower than the speed of light, colliding with escaping oxygen particles.” Danville snapped his fingers. “Instant clouds.”
“How long will they form like this?” Stalbridge asked. He no longer had to shield his eyes from the sunlight because of the thick clouds forming.
“Around a week.”
Stalbridge looked at him and then back at the sky. “You said this flare isn’t a direct hit?”
“Nope.”
“And there are two more rockets supposedly on their way? Correcting course and detonation proximity based on the results we see now?”
“That’s the theory.”
“God help us,” Stalbridge said. A note of finality in his tone.
“Any word from Nick or Adam?” Danville asked.
“Nothing.” Stalbridge played with the lighter in his hand. “Even if they somehow make contact, how will you be able to access Odessa’s network in the middle of a worldwide power outage?”
“I recall the idiom, don’t soil your own nest.”
Stalbridge raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
“A competent military force would never allow themselves to be affected by their own bombs.”
“You think their setup is solar proof?”
“Absolutely,” Danville said. “I don’t condone their actions, past or present. But I have to respect my enemy.” He stroked the patchy stubble on his chin. “If history is any guide, I would bet my year’s salary on where their headquarters is located.”
“Where?” Stalbridge asked.
“Underground.”
Chapter 30
The moment Wood regained consciousness, he grimaced in pain. It had become a concerning trend of late. Maybe a career change deserved some consideration after all. He felt like someone was stabbing his abdomen with a fiery rod. He winced and let out an involuntary gasp. No light of any kind was visible. He wondered if he was blindfolded and tried to reach up to his face, but his hands were restrained behind him. He thought back to the last thing he remembered. Wilkins’ face appeared in his mind when he had got beaten unconscious.
“Adam,” he called out in the darkness.
He heard a gurgling noise. Then the sound of someone spitting. “I’m here,” a voice responded from a short distance away. “My mouth keeps filling with blood. It tastes gritty. Knocked a couple teeth out.” He began to laugh and then immediately stopped and wheezed. His breaths were short. “Somehow we’re still alive old buddy.” He spat again. “I got to tell you though, I’ve been better. I could go for a morphine drip and some Seinfeld reruns.”
“Any idea where we are?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Each word Wilkins spoke sounded like it caused him pain. “I would wager in some sort of storage space deep inside the mountain.”
“We blindfolded?” Wood asked. “My senses are jacked.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What’s your situation?”
There was a pause as Wilkins thought about it in the dark. “Hard to say,” he said. “Trying to triage yourself by pain alone in the pitch-black isn’t the most reliable method.” Wood heard some rattling. “I would wager a couple broken ribs. Some of my teeth are missing. If I were in the NFL, I would have definitely been taken off the field for concussion protocol. Limbs ache, but I don’t think anything serious is broken. Dehydrated. What about you?”
Wood concentrated on his nervous system. Where was the pain the most extreme? “It feels like I had a horrific jousting accident and was impaled through the chest. Hopefully no internal bleeding.” He felt around his mouth with his tongue. “All teeth intact.”
“Lucky,” Wilkins said. “Amara will still somehow find you attractive. What she sees, though, is beyond me. Stringy as a plate of spaghetti. Can’t even grow a full beard.”
Wood smiled. Humor was always the first step to recovery. “Besides the pickaxe embedded in my temple, I think that’s about it.”
“You and me both, buddy.”
There was a long silence. The absence of sound caused goosebumps to spread up Wood’s arms. It was eerie.
“Any ideas?” Wilkins asked.
Wood concentrated on his breathing and forced his heartrate to slow. “I don’t think our Nazi friends were expecting visitors. I bet every entry to this catacomb is either blocked or heavily guarded. We just stumbled upon the only one they had forgotten about.” He flexed his arms and tried to free his hands from whatever bound them. They were both secured tight around each wrist. “I doubt they have a jail and they stored us temporarily somewhere out of the way.”
“You don’t think we are imprisoned in a medieval torture chamber?” Wilkins asked. “Because I read up on some of the archaic methods of old and they were pretty messed up.”
Wood shook his head. “Well if they put you on the rack, at least you would grow an inch or two. Increase your potential dating pool.”
Wilkins chuckled. “You ever heard of the device called the Spanish Donkey? They take some poor sap and sit them on top of a triangular piece of wood. The top edge was often sharpened. All your weight would be supported by where your crotch meets the tip of the triangle. So, you are already in agony, straddling a razor, when they attached large weights to each ankle. With heavy enough weights people would eventually be cut in half.”
Wood grimaced. “Little pieces of history like that remind me how grateful I am that I wasn’t born during the Spanish Inquisition. If we travel a little farther east into Asia minor, have you heard of bamboo torture?”
“No, and I don’t to know.”
Wood spat. He could taste blood in his mouth too. “There are certain species of bamboo that can grow up to 35 inches every day.”
Wilkins whistled.
The distant echoes caused Wood to think the room they were in was larger than he had originally thought. “A victim would be positioned securely in place above a young bamboo shoot. Over several days, the sharp point would puncture, then completely pass through the victim’s body, eventually growing through the other side.”
Wilkins didn’t respond for a moment. “You know, maybe the modern world isn’t as bad as we are made to believe. Disease, hunger, and poverty, on a global scale, are all down.”
They argued back and forth about which systems of torture would be the worst. The debate helped take Wood’s mind off the pain still pulsating throughout his body.
“Enough with the torture methods,” Wood eventually said. “The real important question is, if you could live at any other time in history, when would it be?”
Wilkins paused while he thought about it. “I would love to visit some of the ancient civilizations,” he said. “Witness Rome at the height of its power. Visit the hanging gardens of Babylon.” He laughed to himself. “I bet you Babylon was full of women that look like Jasmine.” Wilkins sighed. “What about you?”
The involuntary lack of movement caused Wood’s lower back to throb. He adjusted as best he could. “I would love to go back to the late 1800’s early 1900’s at the height of the British Empire. Visit India and Cairo. Join some of the greatest explorers during the Victorian Age, like Livingston, Stanley, Burton and Speke as they tried to find the source of the Nile. If we ever get out of here, make sure to read The Last Hero by Peter Forbath. One of the best historical fiction novels of all time.”
“Will do. That was some of the last uncharted land on the planet,” Wilkins said. “You would love to explore?”
Wood chuckled. “I was born too late t
o explore the world, too early to explore the solar system.” He paused. “But I was born at the perfect time to see Bitcoin revolutionize how we think about money.” Wood could not see any visible reaction from Wilkins, but even in the dark, he could sense Wilkins rolling his eyes.
“Don’t get started on cryptocurrency down here Nick.”
“It’s going to be big.”
Just then the entire space was flooded in blinding light. Wood winced and instinctively tried to raise his hands to protect his face. They were still firmly secured. He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck his temples.
Nearby, Wilkins groaned. “Be gentle,” he whispered.
Wood slowly opened his right eye, expecting the worse. The room they were in was monstrous. The rocky ceiling above them had been crudely smoothed and had to stretch at least 30 feet high. Large metal conduits and pipes bolted to the rock hung and crisscrossed like streets in a big city. A punishing array of florescent lights lit the space like the noon day sun. Wood blinked a few times. Rows and rows of barrels the size of garbage cans stacked six high stretched farther than he could see. They all looked color coded. The nearest barrels were a dull yellow.
“Food storage?” Wilkins guessed.
Wood’s mouth fell open. “That’s would be enough food to feed a small city for 100 years.” He looked over and examined Wilkins, and his heart sank. Wilkins could have been the antagonist in a Halloween horror film. Blood had dried and caked itself all the way down his face and neck. His left eye was swollen shut and the surrounding skin was every shade of red and purple. Wilkins caught Wood staring at him and gave him a half grin. Some of his front teeth were missing and the black gaps gave him a malevolent look. Wilkins’ smile faded as he saw the worry etched on Wood’s face.
“I hope you moonlighted as a dentist while you were in the jungle, Nick,” Wilkins said. His tongue moved around the open spaces in his mouth getting used to the new layout. “I could use some Novocain. The nerves are exposed and even breathing causes pain like you can’t believe.” He flinched. “I would rather die of dehydration than let cold water touch my mouth right now.”
“You look like you picked a fight with a street sign and lost,” Wood said.
“One street sign I could handle, but when they gang up in packs of eight, they form a formidable force.”
Wood quickly appraised their situation. They were both bound to separate forklifts approximately 20 feet apart. The straps around Wood’s wrists had been firmly secured around the metal columns of the backrest. Because the forks were only about a foot off the ground, Wood could neither comfortably sit nor stand. He was forced to crouch in an awkward position that put continual stress on his lower back. He pivoted, trying to redistribute some of the pain.
Wood watched Wilkins struggle against the wrist straps. “At least you don’t have to worry about malevolent Nazi torture techniques being utilized on you. They definitely aren’t accustomed to unwanted guests around here.” He gestured to the forklifts. “Looks like they used the closest thing available to detain us.”
Wilkins cursed through his broken teeth. “Don’t count your eggs just yet Nick. I guarantee these people are resourceful. If they want suffering, they will find a way.”
Wood looked around trying to find anything that could help them. The straps around his wrists were tight and allowed no mobility of his arms. He planted his feet and leaned back against the machine. It didn’t budge. Trying to move the forklift in his current position was like trying to push a parked pickup truck uphill.
They froze and looked at each other when the echo of approaching footsteps reached their ears. Wilkins’ grimace looked especially chilling with the dried blood and missing teeth. They remained silent as Gisela appeared between two high stacks of orange bins. She was alone and gave them both an appraising look, like they were an exhibit at the zoo.
Wood was struck with how confident Gisela was. It was a power few people ever possessed. The only question was if they would use that power for good or evil. The chill down his spine when their eyes locked gave him an immediate answer which side she had chosen.
“It’s good to see you again, Gisela,” Wood said. He noticed the scar on Gisela’s forehead where it had been split open with the rock. The scar resembled a small cross. An ironic coincidence. He gestured to the enormous cavern. “We love what you’ve done with the place.”
“It’s a little airy for my taste,” Wilkins said, haughtily. He looked around. “It could use a little color. The hospitality of our hosts left something to be desired. But all things considered, very well done.”
Gisela grinned and took a moment before responding. “It gives me great pleasure to see you here in front of me.” Her accent was almost imperceptible, but it was there. “We’ve had quite the adventure tracking you down across three continents these last few months.” She looked away as though recalling everything she had been through. She chuckled to herself. “Turns out it was all in vain because you somehow found your way to us. Most impressive.”
“The old switch-a-rooney,” Wood said. “The hunted become the hunters.”
“You’re hunting skills could use some work Mr. Wood,” Gisela said. “The only reason you two are still alive is because I wanted to keep you briefly as trophies. My comrades protested but I feel you have earned the right to witness what we have accomplished. I don’t like you, but I respect you.”
“Likewise,” Wood said.
She locked eyes with him again. Wood could not help but wonder how many people had greeted death shortly after staring into those eyes.
“Just out of curiosity, how did you two manage to enter the cave system?” she asked.
Wood and Wilkins looked at each other. Had they completely forgotten about the old outpost with the secret basement under the floor? Maybe only a very few people had known of the secret entrance after all. Wood wondered how vast the underground network extended and how many entrances existed.
Wood looked at Gisela and gave her a look like the answer was too obvious to dignify with a response. “We followed you and your entourage.”
Gisela’s eyebrows furrowed. “Anybody else in your group lurking throughout the tunnels? Maybe on the Chilean side? Who else knows you are here?”
That answered that, Wood thought. The cave system somehow extended under the mountains all the way into Chile.
“We were livestreaming to thousands of riveted fans online until we lost service in here,” Wood said. “Damn caves are abyssal for satellite signal.”
Gisela grinned. “You two are alone and no one knows you are here, do they?”
“All right, all right,” Wood said. “We didn’t have thousands of riveted fans watching our livestream. It was closer to 100. Mostly extended family.”
She laughed. “My comrades allowed me to visit you first to see what I could discover. After such blatant disrespect, I think I will allow them to use their preferred methods of extracting information. Techniques that have been perfected over the last few decades.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Wood saw Wilkins frown. Looked like they might get tortured after all.
“So, what now?” he asked. “I could use a water bottle and a hamburger. Hold the onions.”
“Hold the onions?” Wilkins said. “Extra onions for me, Gisela. Nick is crazy.”
Wood shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, Adam, I ain’t no onion hater. But whoever first put a raw onion on a hamburger bun deserves a licking.”
“A licking? Why don’t you go into town and get me some twine you hick?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Enough,” Gisela said. Her tone sharp as a saw. “I wanted to inform you that your effort to thwart us has already failed. As we speak, a global superstorm is forming outside. There is nothing anyone can do to stop what is about to happen. Not even us…”
Wood yawned.
“Am I boring you, Mr. Wood?”
Wood let hi
s shoulders sag. “That was the most stereotypical and cliché start to a villain monologue I have ever heard.” He nodded encouragingly at her. “You seem hyper intelligent and socially savvy. Please, for our sake, at least try and be original.”
She approached Wood and examined the straps around both wrists. She gave one a short tug and then faced him square. “I don’t keep trophies for long. They bore me, and I find clutter reprehensible. Enjoy each other’s juvenile banter while you still can.”
“So… that is a no on those hamburgers?”
Her face flushed for an instant and then just as quickly she regained control. “I don’t think you appreciate the enormity of the situation at hand. I thought if anyone could esteem the sheer level of ground-breaking brilliance our organization has accomplished these past few decades, it would be you.”
“I can appreciate brilliance a lot better with a full stomach,” Wilkins mumbled.
“Then what?” Wood asked. “A fourth Reich?” You kill off most of the world’s population with a global flood. The survivors will soon die from starvation, disease, and war.” He looked at Wilkins. “I actually read the other day that European college students can now purchase prepackaged scrambled eggs because they don’t know how to scramble the eggs themselves.”
Wilkins chuckled. “Every time I try and cook eggs, they always end up scrambled. Can you imagine these people forced to survive in a world with no electricity, supermarkets, or plumbing? I bet the Amish communities see a population boom.”
Wood spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “You wait out the ensuing chaos safely in your secret cave in the mountains. Munch on popcorn and reread Mein Kampf as you watch the world tear itself apart. With enough food and supplies to last you indefinitely, completely self-sufficient, and independent from any power grid. Then, when the time is right, you resurface in the world as the most technologically advanced group while everyone else is relearning how to make lightbulbs. You kill off the rest of humanity or enslave them and finally the one pure Arian race dominates the world.”
