by S. T. Boston
Inside the fuselage, in the plush and lavishly kitted out passenger lounge, Namtar sat, watching Sam Becker with interest, rolling a black disc about the size of a guitar plectrum, only more circular, over the backs of his knuckles. First one way, then then other, over and over again. He never dropped it, nor did he have to look down to check his dexterity, the movement was fluid and natural.
Since leaving the old RAF base at Netheravon he'd kept his prisoner sedated, The Gift had cut the time that the ketamine, which was in the tranq-darts, was active for down by a good half of its normal knock-out period. As such Namtar had plugged Becker twice more since taking off, and pretty soon he would be round again. This time he was going to allow him to wake, but not for too long. He had a gift for him, well more of an anti-gift really, a little something that would strip his unjustly given healing powers away, and if he thought about trying any heroics, make him a damn sight easier to take down and deal with.
“If he tries anything else,” Croaker began, “I'll kill that motherfucker myself.” He was sat in the seat opposite Namtar. Sam was in the opposite isle, laid out across the large grey leather seats, his head pushed hard against the side of the fuselage, just under an oval window that had its blind pulled down. He was a smidgen too tall to fit neatly and as such his legs hung out into the isle a little. He was held in place by the lap belts of both seats. One over his torso, the other his knees. Sam's hands were both cuffed and zip tied behind his back and his legs were fixed together with both Velcro limb restraints and large, thick plastic zip ties. One at the top of his chunky calf muscles and a second at his ankles.
Each set of seats on the jet was separated by a beautifully polished mahogany table that was fixed into the floor of the cabin, thus allowing four passengers to face each other, making it easier to hold business meetings and conference calls from the air. Having reached the jet Croaker had used the first aid kit on board to fashion a dressing for his ruined eye and nose. The bandage was fixed diagonally over his head, and looked a little like a skull cap that had slid off at an angle. “He took my fucking eye out!” he added, sounding pissed, before knocking back a cocktail of Ibuprofen and Paracetamol.
“Stop being so pathetic,” Namtar scorned. “Maybe if you hadn't been leering at his wife so much he'd have left you with two good eyes. And besides, you're in a better position than your two colleagues are. Peltz will be turning in his grave, well, I doubt he'll ever actually get one to be honest, but you know what I mean, if he knew you were being such a - what is it the Americans say? That's right, a pussy.”
Sam gave out a small groan of discomfort and they both watched as his head lolled from side-to-side at the same time his legs began to move. Namtar got up from his seat and slid himself in between the table and the seats that Sam was secured to. The whole cabin was built for comfort, not like a commercial airliner, and as such there was plenty of room to move about pretty much unrestricted, still, Namtar had to crouch a little to stop his head knocking the top of the fuselage. Reaching down he used his thumb to open Sam's right eye, as he did the pupil dilated and he felt him try to blink. “I think he will be back with us very soon,” Namtar grinned, glancing at the last remaining member of his team.
“Is it going to hurt?” Croaker asked, a flicker of hope flashing in his one remaining eye.
“It's not pleasant, I know that much.” He reached down and slapped Sam across the face a few times, further rousing him from the drug-induced sleep.
* * *
Sam's mind was dark, a dark abyss-like pool that he'd been submerged in for longer than he remembered. On two occasions he'd been certain that he was about to break free of the abyss but as he'd felt himself rising to the surface of its blacken waters he'd been plunged right back in again, sinking once again to the bottom and fearing that he would be completely unable to ever break free. This time he felt closer than ever, and as he experienced the welcome pain and numbness of his body once again, the perpetual darkness became stripped away in bright, eye-assaulting light. This happened for only the briefest of moments and then it was gone, leaving dazzling red and green electrical-looking sparks dancing behind his eyelids.
Someone was slapping his face now, too hard for it to be Adam, or Lucie. He felt washed in a nauseous confusion as his drugged brain tried to remember what had happened, and just where he was.
“Time to wake up, Mr. Becker,” he heard a male voice say, and it was one he knew, Namtar.
“Yeah, and maybe when he's done with you, and you can't heal quite so good, I'll cleave your fucking eye out, too,” came another voice. The mentioning of the eye was the trigger word that caused his struggling synapsis to fire, a little like a car being jump started from a booster pack. The events back at the cottage flashed though his mind, like a movie on fast forward. What had happened to Lucie? The last time he'd seen her she was fleeing out of the door, and he'd watched Namtar go after her.
Sam struggled his eyes open, blinking slowly and deliberately, giving them time to adjust. He quickly processed the fact that he was on an aircraft, and he had a strong feeling he was the only captive, which meant either Lucie had escaped, or was dead. The thought filled him with cold fear, a fear that he would quickly need to stifle if he were to focus on the situation at hand. Craning his stiff neck forward he saw the guy whose eye he'd put the cuff blade though, now bandaged up and looking about as pissed off as a person could. Namtar was stood beside him, looking impossibly tall from his horizontal position. “Look on the bright side,” Sam managed to croak, in a cracked voice. “If things don't work out for you here, you can always get a job as a pirate at Disney World.”
“Fuck you,” the guy jeered. “I'm just sorry your little wifey got away, or me 'n her, we'd have had some fun, might have even let ya watch.” A perverse smile turned up the corners of his mouth, revealing his slightly off-white teeth.
Sam felt two emotions instantly at his retort, immense relief and a burning desire to cut the guy's cock off and make him choke to death on it, if it was big enough that is, which Sam honestly doubted. However, he'd quite easily finish the job by pulverising his head until he was so mashed up he couldn't draw breath. For now, though, the only thing he could do was ignore the statement, not biting would give the guy no satisfaction, instead he turned his attention to Namtar and said, “Well, I guess you're not here to take these cuffs and restraints off and give me a club sandwich.”
Namtar smiled, and Sam watched him produce a flat disc-like object from between his right thumb and forefinger. “No, not even close,” he coaxed. “It has been very clear to me from the moment you evaded us in France that you are a true liability-“
“Your brother,” Sam cut in. “You missed the part where I killed your brother.” He managed a smile and saw a flicker of rage ignite in Namtar's otherwise cold eyes.
“You want to be very careful, Mr. Becker,” he growled. “You are in no position to be such a wise ass, both of us here would love to kill you, push us too far and it might just happen, and be damned with the consequences.”
Sam inwardly scalded himself, whilst at the moment his voice was his only form of defence, if he didn't keep his mouth in check he believed that he could push one of them to breaking point. Although his current position was dire, with a strong chance of eventual death, the survival instinct in him knew he had to live for as long as he could. Because while he was breathing, he had a chance.
“As I was saying, you are a liability, and what do we do with risks and liabilities?” Namtar continued. Sam bit his lip and stopped himself from saying something smart, instead he opted for silence, so Namtar continued, “We manage it.” He brought the disc down before Sam's eyes so he could get a good look at it. “I'm not sure how familiar you are with The Gift, Mr. Becker, or if you know that it can be taken away faster than it is given.” He paused again, but Sam didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply, nor did he feel the least like begging for him not to do what he knew was coming, because in truth he didn't give a
shit about The Gift, other than its ability to make intense situations more survivable, he would let Namtar have his fun, believing that what he was about to do was paramount to torture. “This disc will send a current though your body, within that current is a signal that shuts down every single nanobot that's inside your blood. Basically, you will be returned to how you should be, mortal.”
“I guess I'll have to start buying anti-aging cream again,” Sam blurted, unable to keep a lid on himself.
“I can assure you that you won't find it the least bit funny the next time you get shot,” Namtar hissed, leaning forward and placing the disc on Sam's forehead. “Just relax, I'm told that this hurts like a bitch.”
Sam watched a wicked smile spread over his face, he felt the cool disc on his clammy forehead, at first it felt as if a coin were being pushed into his skin, and then he felt the pain. A multitude of tiny barbs biting into his flesh, securing themselves for whatever was coming next, and he didn't have to wait long to find out. A split second later he felt as if he'd just stuck a fork into a plug socket, his body convulsed at the shock, his back arched, but he was held painfully down by the lap belts that secured him to the seats. He wanted to cry out in agony but he held it, clenching his teeth down hard, so hard he thought they'd break like china. Finally the shock ended, Sam was sure it had only been a second or two, but it felt much longer. He didn't even notice the barbs as they retracted.
“Now, unfortunately for you there is only one way to test if this has actually worked,” Namtar grinned.
Sam was certain he didn't need to test a damn thing, it was more a case of he wanted to do it, but again he didn't give him that satisfaction of being weak. “Do you what must,” he said, trying to sound as confident as he could. Sam watched him take a small but sharp looking flick knife from the one-eyed guy, Croaker. Now standing back over him, Namtar held it before Sam's face, and for what he felt must be purely dramatic effect, he flicked the blade out.
“Don't worry,” Namtar said. “I won't go too deep.” With that he rolled up the sleeve of Sam's tee-shirt, exposing his shoulder, somewhere since the cottage he'd lost his fleece, which pissed him off as it was one of his favourites. Using the tip of the blade he pushed down, puncturing the flesh. The pain was worse than the shock and much to Sam's embarrassment and Namtar's delight he finally let out a gasp of pain. Slowly Sam felt the metal slice his skin, and felt blood leaking down and running under his armpit. True to his word Namtar didn't do half as much damage as he could have done and soon he was back, waving the dripping blade before Sam's eyes.
“Now let's see if it's worked, shall we?”
Sam could just see the wound by straining his eyes down and turning his neck. He didn't need to watch, he knew that this time he would need a bandage, possibly stitches of some kind. After five minutes blood was still oozing steadily from the cut.
“I think we can call that particular procedure a blinding success,” Namtar said eventually. “No pun intended, Mr. Croaker,” he mused. “Can you fetch me the first aid box, that is if you haven't used all the dressings yourself?”
A few minutes later Sam's wound was cleaned and dressed, a small red blotch, like ink on blotting paper, already blossoming on the white of the bandage. He tried his best to get comfortable but all feeling in his hands and feet were gone. Sam felt his ears pop and that familiar slight plunging of the stomach as the aircraft began descending.
“This is our first stop,” Namtar announced. “Portugal for a top up of fuel that will allow us to complete the trip to Nazca.” Sam watched Namtar hand the knife back to Croaker, he then bent down and fetched a pistol off one of the empty seats. Sam had seen this gun before, it was the weapon that he'd been shot with in the cottage. “I'm going to be keeping you sedated for the rest of the trip, Mr. Becker, unfortunately I don't really have a kinder way to administer the drug.” He watched Namtar grin as he raised the barrel, there was a soft pffssttt and Sam felt the dart bite into his flesh. The thought of being knocked out for the rest of the trip was actually a welcome one. Gradually the world began to fall dark, and yet again Sam began to sink to the bottom of that black abyss-like pool.
Chapter 33
President Hill listened to the Dae Wonsu with more than a little trepidation and with a good dose of scepticism thrown in for good measure. As the Dae Wonsu spoke, Hill glanced at the senior members of his administration and the ranking members of the armed forces who, he could tell, were thinking the same as him. What a crock of horse shit. The Dae Wonsu spoke perfect English and from the intelligence that they had on him, which had been flashed up on their personal tablets during the call, Hill could see that he'd actually attended Oxford University as a young man. It often amused him how countries who disliked the western way of life opted to use its educational systems before heading home to fight against their oppressors in the west.
As he finished his in-depth account of just how Tokyo had been wiped off the map, thanks to one of their nukes, President Hill just sat in silence, allowing a little tension to build. He wanted whoever was with the Dae Wonsu in their bunker, or conference room, to feel it, too.
Finally he sipped some water before saying, “Just where is your supreme leader?”
It was clear that the question took the Dae Wonsu off guard, as it took him a moment to answer. Finally, he said, “I'm sure your intelligence is aware that Kim Jong-un died over two years ago of the virus that you called The Reaper, along with any successors he had, so the military has taken over governance.”
“I'm sure that suited your plans very well,” Hill added coldly. The country had always been very closed door and tough to get intelligence from, but since The Reaper getting information from them had been like trying to get blood from a stone. “I think it's fair to say he was just a figurehead, controlled by his military leaders anyway.”
“Our nation's political arrangements are of no concern to your government, Mr. President,” the Dae Wonsu replied tersely.
“I would beg to differ,” Hill fired back. “You have just used the first nuclear weapon in anger in close to a century. You have opened a door that could well lead humanity down a path from which it can't return.”
“Mr. President, I have told you that we did not launch that attack. Our systems were compromised, someone took control Kwangmyŏngsŏng and launched that weapon.”
“I trust you can provide tangible evidence to support your claim,” Liza Sherwood added, her brow just about managing to crease into a frown that fought against her tightly tied back black hair.
“We can send you the feed from the launch bunker, you will see the reactions of the two crew who were on station when it happened.” It was clear from the Dae Wonsu's tone that he did not appreciate being addressed by a woman.
“A video that could easily have been staged, or recorded before the event using actors,” she replied, only too aware of the nation's ability for propaganda and spin. “We need to see evidence of your system being hacked, you will send us everything you have on file from the moment you went live. If you are speaking the truth then this should be no issue. I don't need to point out to you what might happen if you don't.”
“Miss Sherwood, we are only too aware of the dire situation at hand, but at this moment we have no control over Kwangmyŏngsŏng, we can't audit, nor get into our systems. Mr. President, at this time we have no control over the nine other twenty five megaton weapons that we have in our arsenal.”
Hill felt his guts churn, there was a certain sincerity in the Dae Wonsu's voice that made him uneasy. “Just who does have control of your systems then?” he barked.
“We don't know, but we have a theory and it's vitally important that you hear me out.”
“I'm listening,” Hill replied.
“We lost Kwangmyŏngsŏng as soon as it went live, whoever took control only wanted to fire one weapon, and they could have easily launched the other nine.”
“Your point being?”
“I fear this was a te
st, a test of a program that they plan to put into action when you and your allies come online in the next few hours. Mr. President, you need to think very carefully before you bring your launch systems live. I bring this to you, and you alone, as I know you have the ear of many leaders. I am terrified that once the rest of the world comes online something unthinkable will happen. Our nations have their differences, but ultimately none of us want to see weapons of mass destruction used, none of us want to see our children's futures destroyed.”
“Send me what you have,” Hill commanded, but you must appreciate that I am treating this with a great deal of scepticism.”
“I understand,” the Dae Wonsu said. The line cleared and a second later a video file arrived. The tech team played it through to the large screen in the conference room.
Everyone watched in earnest as the black and white clip played out, there was sound, too. Hill ordered a translation be made as soon as practicable, however, even without the benefit of it being in English he could see what was happening. The reactions of the two officers looked very genuine, but as Liza had rightly pointed out, it could have been filmed even before the event. As the clip finished, Hill ran his hands through his greying hair and let out a long sigh. He turned his attention to his team and said, “So – what do you think?” There was a long tentative pause, as if no one wanted to be the first with their opinion.
Finally, Chuck Leading spoke up, “I think it's a load of shit, sir, if you'll pardon my language. If you want my opinion they intended to use every nuke, but there was a problem with their antiquated systems and now the other birds in the nest are useless, and they are back-peddling because they know what will happen when the big boys come back into the playing field. Even if they were hacked, which I very much doubt, their systems and firewalls are not a patch on ours. It would be virtually impossible to hack every launch and defence system on the planet, and who the hell would want to do such a thing? No terrorist group that we know of are capable of such a thing.”
