by Greig Beck
Arcadian Genesis
( Alex Hunter )
Greig Beck
An aeon ago it crashed into the frozen earth. Millennia later it was removed from the icy soil, still functioning. They opened it … they shouldn’t have.
Alex Hunter — in the mission that turned him from a normal man into the weapon known as the Arcadian — and the elite team of soldiers known as the Hotzone All-Forces Warfare Commandos must enter a hostile country to rescue a defected Chechen researcher from the center of a country at war.
But the HAWCs are not the only ones looking for the rogue scientist and the mysterious package he carries with him. A brutal and relentless killer and his death squad are on the trail too — and they bring a savagery with them Hunter and his team have never witnessed before in modern warfare.
In this stunning prequel to Beneath the Dark Ice, the HAWC team must race the clock to rescue the scientist, prevent the package from falling into the wrong hands … and save the world from a horror that should never have been woken.
Greig Beck
Return of the Ancients
‘Some of us were made for war.’
Major Jack Hammerson
PROLOGUE
97,000 BC — Yamalo-Nenetsk region, northern Russia
The sonic boom made the herd of tundra mammoth pause momentarily in their slow march to the south. The group, several hundred strong, watched the small light in the sky streak toward them and then disappear in the near distance.
The second boom came as the object struck the earth. The vibration was felt firstly beneath their massive feet, then came the shock wave that made the huge creatures lower their heads as though bracing themselves against a gale.
After another few seconds, the calm returned, and the bull herd leader lifted his head to trumpet dismissively, and begin again the long trek to the warmer lands.
By the time they passed the massive scar, its center was still boiling like a cauldron, with its rim of hard-packed frozen earth cracked and crazed like a broken plate. Its edges were lifted in towering slabs, dozens of feet thick, and were already cool enough to allow a dusting of fine snow to settle. The immense crater would flatten and fill and in generations of marches would eventually become buried by every season’s debris.
The wound in the earth would heal and, for nearly a thousand centuries, be forgotten.
CHAPTER 1
February 4, 2000, Katyr-Yurt, Chechnya
Denichen Khamid smiled as he held the phone to his ear. In his mind he could see them as clearly as if he were sitting in his old family sitting room. His mother, Amiina, would have on one of her many layered, colored skirts; the fire would be high and her cheeks rosy from its heat. He could almost smell the wood smoke, fried onions and tobacco.
Laila, his beautiful wife, would be smiling as she struggled to hold Timur on her lap, waiting respectfully for Amiina to finish with her introductions so she could have her own private words with him. In the background, he heard his son squeal and then laugh; his eyes welled up, the pain of the separation magnified by the familiar sounds of his former home.
‘You will be rich and famous Deni, once you have top marks from the England’s Bridge University.’ Her voice cracked slightly with what he guessed was pride.
Denichen laughed softly at his mother’s pronunciation. ‘Cambridge, mama… and no, I won’t be rich, but… comfortable. I look forward to you all being with me soon.’
‘Smartest young man in all of Cambridge, then.’ She laughed.
Denichen knew he had done well in his final exams, and expected to top his year in applied physics. Already several research facilities had been sounding him out and their offers were very generous. He would easily be able to afford to have all three of them move from the small Chechen village and come live with him. One of the firms had even told him they would arrange permanent residency for his family — no easy thing in these distrustful times.
‘Put Laila on now please, mama.’
The old woman groaned and Denichen pictured the phone being traded for his well-fed four-year-old son. His wife’s soft voice came on the line, slightly muffled as he imagined her hand cupped over the receiver and her back half turned away to avoid the critical gaze of his still over-protective mother.
‘I miss you, my love,’ Laila whispered. ‘Timur has drawn a picture of you… in a rocket. He thinks you are a space scientist now.’
He swallowed a lump in his throat as he imagined his son’s small fingers with the few colored pencils they had scratching on the paper, the tip of his tongue sticking out to the side in concentration.
‘Soon, zaichek, soon.’ It was his secret term for her and meant his little rabbit. Denichen was alone in his room, but still he whispered his words. ‘I miss you terribly, both of you… and tell Timur I will hang his picture in my living room.’
His mood turned a little more serious. ‘Are you and Timur well? Is the war staying away?’ Calling it a war was very flattering for the Chechens. More David and Goliath, where David has only one arm. He had tried to follow events from England and had heard that the fighting was still centered in and around the capital, Grozny — only twenty miles to the northeast, and far too close for his liking.
‘Yes, yes, do not worry. Life is good and quiet for us. Maybe a little too quiet for Timur.’ She made a small noise, and then there was a brief pause as though she was remembering something. ‘Um, there was this one thing… ’
He frowned as he listened.
‘Some Chechen fighters passed through the town just this morning. Most making their way to the mountains. It was strange — the Russians allowed them to travel without trouble. They never do that. Perhaps the conflict is over for us now, Deni.’
He was confused — the Russians always stopped the Chechen fighters, if not to kill them, then at least to capture or disarm them. It had been that way since 1994 — even in ceasefires, the distrust and bloodshed continued. He waited for her to go on.
‘It’s all quiet now and the town is getting ready for bed — like Timur should be. First he wants to speak to you. He just —’
‘Mama, lights. Look see.’ He heard his son’s excited voice, and then came the creaking of a chair as his wife must have gotten to her feet.
‘Deni — you should see. There’s a falling star — I’ll make a wish for you. Wait, there’s more.’
Denichen heard his mother in the background. ‘Tell Deni, the Bagapshes next door can see it too — they’ve come out into their front yard to look. It’s very bright.’
His wife spoke again. ‘It’s beautiful Deni. It’s a good luck sign.’ She went on but sounded slightly confused. ‘Strange, there’s more of them now and they’re so bright…’
Denichen pressed the phone harder to his ear. A feeling of unease churned in his gut. Get away from the windows.
A deep thump and then a banshee howl burst from the receiver, causing him to wince and pull the phone away from his ear. He immediately jammed it back against the side of his head.
‘Laila? Laila, please answer…’
There was nothing but a crackling of static. He hung up and quickly redialed, and then again and again…
* * *
Denichen had read the transcript from the European Court of Human Rights again and again, hoping to draw something from the words that simply would never be there. Russia had been held responsible for the civilian deaths in Katyr-Yurt during a secret operation codenamed Red Sky. Like every other time he looked at the lengthy document of facts, he had been left feeling sick and angry.
The twenty-seven vacuum bombs went off, as designed, when they were several dozen feet from the ground. Just like the others, the bomb over his mo
ther’s house would have exploded with a ferocious pressure front of fuel and oxidant that traveled outward at two miles per second and quickly reached temperatures of five thousand degrees. The Bagapshes and anyone else caught in the open would have ceased to exist in an instant.
The blast’s next effect gave the bomb its name — the explosion pulling all the oxygen from the atmosphere. The effect on living creatures that had managed to shelter from the initial furnace was devastating. Soft tissue organs like the eyes, eardrums and even lungs were ruptured or torn out. There was never a need for a second attack.
The evidence gathered for the courts was compelling. Still, no action had ever been taken.
At least not yet.
CHAPTER 2
Two weeks ago — Senate building, Moscow Kremlin Complex
President Vladimir Volkov shook his head and laughed deep in the back of his throat. The pictures laid out before him were astounding, and if their content was real, it would be the greatest find in his country’s history.
He fanned out the photographs on the table. They all showed a silver metallic object that had been uncovered in the Yamalo-Nenetsk region by local villagers looking for mammoth tusks. The refrigerator-sized metallic object was said to cause a tingling sensation in the hands when touched — perhaps a device, then.
Originally he had thought it might be fallen space debris — their own, or maybe a spy satellite that had at last dropped from its decaying orbit. But then he read the detail that had made his scientists so excited — the rock-like, frozen soil around the object was nearly 100,000 years old. A working device from that age — what was its power source? Unless this was some sort of elaborate American trick, he may have uncovered something that could revolutionize his country… and cost nothing.
Like many non-Western countries, they were very adept at analyzing and improving foreign technology. Whether it was the latest German super-mainframe, American spy drone, or sophisticated software system… all could be deconstructed and the most sensitive and secret inner workings drawn out and improved for their own production. If the thing was real, they could do it again.
Volkov narrowed his eyes at the image of the shining object. If it truly proved to be some sort of otherworldly technology, what secrets had it brought? What military advantage?
He pushed back his chair. The object was on its way to the laboratory in Dubna. He’d see it for himself. If it was a hoax, someone’s head would roll — literally. He disliked traveling in the cold.
* * *
Dr. Gennady Millinov stood next to Volkov behind the thick, lead-impregnated glass. Volkov growled in his throat and turned to face the scientist, who, despite standing half a head taller, shrank from his gaze.
Like a hungry wolf, Millinov thought. The president was known to possess a ferocious temperament and his pale, unblinking stare fitted the name his friends and enemies alike had bestowed on him — Little Wolf. Millinov swallowed — the ex-KGB enforcer only reached his chin, but he seemed to tower over him. Millinov steeled himself before responding. ‘It’s cold… maintaining a constant internal temperature of about minus two hundred degrees Fahrenheit; perhaps to protect some sensitive electronics. We. . we think it is a probe, and… still functioning, or at least still active.’
Volkov stared intently into the scientist’s eyes, making the taller man lick his lips and smile weakly. Eventually, he turned back to the window. The metallic object was a simple silver tube devoid of screw holes or weld marks. Like the scientists, he surmised that whoever — or whatever — had sealed it had used a technology beyond anything known to man.
Using a combination of an industrial laser and diamond drill, Millinov’s team had managed to put a hole in its casing and peel back a four-inch segment of the still-shining material. A dull, green glow radiated from the hole.
Volkov turned his head to look once again at the lumps of clothing that now contained little more than piles of dust on the floor. There were a few metallic-looking fragments scattered amongst the grains. His mouth turned down as he spoke. ‘Still functioning, you say, Comrade Millinov? Sending data… A transmitter, or perhaps instead some type of weapon?’
The scientist flinched at the use of the old communist term. The word was used like a curse, and was probably to remind him of the president’s shadowy KGB background. He knew his next answer had better be a good one.
‘We don’t think it’s a weapon… and no identifiable signal pulse is being emitted. It seems fairly benign…’ He stopped and looked briefly at the empty clothing, swallowed, and continued. ‘The team… We thought… They thought they were protected. It seemed to be a low-level radiation released when the probe was opened, but —’
Volkov interrupted him. ‘But it wasn’t.’
Millinov spoke softly. ‘No, it wasn’t. To begin with, they seemed to work better, faster, smarter. Then we noticed the lesions, and then, in an instant, they just seemed to fall in on themselves. One minute they’re working brilliantly, then some of them looked surprised, as if they had received a slight shock, and then…’ He motioned to the grayish dust on the floor of the isolation chamber.
‘They just melted? Is that it? They rubbed the lamp and a genie came out and turned them all to powder?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr. President …’
Volkov waved away his apology.
Millinov gathered his thoughts. ‘It is. . like severe radiation exposure. One minute it is destroying the epidermal layer of the skin, the next it desiccates the body’s cellular composition. It was as if the integrity of the human biological system just… decided to disassemble itself. It left nothing but their mercury fillings — it seemed to only target the flesh, and…’
The scientist stopped speaking as Volkov turned his cold eyes on him. His teeth were grinding behind his cheeks. ‘So, other than killing our entire team, what advances have you made?’
Millinov dreaded this moment. He needed more time. The analysis could take months… Years. But saying that to Volkov now could be a death sentence. His mouth opened and closed a few times before the words stumbled out.
‘The probe’s outer structure is mostly iridium. But it is bonded with some sort of alloy, which we believe gives it greater strength and density without losing its heat and corrosion resistance. .’
Think faster, he thought as he wiped his forehead. ‘. . If pressed, I would have to say the object was designed more as a protective casing.’ Millinov felt a bead of perspiration run down his cheek. ‘The emissions are not microorganic, and not radioactive, at least not as we understand it.’
‘Casing? For what?’ Volkov leaned closer, waiting.
Millinov knew he was guessing now. ‘The… fuel, or power source… I think.’
‘Power source.’ Volkov said the words deliberately, as though savoring each syllable. His eyes narrowed as he looked back to the glowing hole in the silver tube.
‘Yes, but it is more than that… it is my glorious future. Get the best people, whatever you need, doctor. But I warn you — I will not hear any more maybe it is, I think it might be, or, as we understand it. You have one month to really understand it.’ He paused and half turned as he approached the door. He motioned to the sealed chamber and the remains of Millinov’s team. ‘And drop that mess down a mineshaft somewhere.’
Millinov nodded on every word. A month? It’d take him a week just to get a new team assembled, and he needed better shielding. He looked at the piles of clothing in the isolation chamber and the powdery remains scattered underneath them.
Better than ending up down a mineshaft, comrade. He headed for the phone.
* * *
Denichen Khamid reread the urgent letter in his hand. By the authority of the president he had been invited — or rather, summoned — to attend a month-long science project at Russia’s prestigious Research Center for Applied Nuclear Physics in Dubna. By Dr. Gennady Millinov himself.
Assholes! He screwed up the letter in his fist and cursed again. I’d
rather see them all dead. He raised his fist, meaning to throw the balled paper toward the bin — but stopped. His eyes traveled across the room to the cabinet where a few poorly focused photographs stood in wooden frames. Amiina smiled back at him from one, and in the others Timur grew from a baby to a toddler, his beautiful Laila looking eternally serene. Her eyes haunted him — they killed us, she whispered. Burnt us down to ashes in our home, Deni.
He missed her every day, and was racked by guilt because he hadn't been there, or hadn’t done more to bring them to him when he had the chance. He had waited, to save money, but instead had failed to save them. He crushed his eyes shut and his jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Alone, and now based in London, close to the National Physical Laboratory where he worked, he was already regarded by his peers as one of the most creative physicists in Britain. His skill made him sought-after globally and he could have his pick of any university, research facility or corporate laboratory on the globe.
His fist tightened; but he didn’t want their recognition. There was something he wanted much more.
Revenge.
Everyone involved in his family’s death had been silenced, transferred away or even promoted… and no one ever asked the president a single question. Justice? Not for his mother, his wife or his son — not for all of Katyr-Yurt.
By the authority of the president. Denichen smiled without a trace of humor. But sometimes fate intervenes. He smoothed out the letter and reread it. Sometimes fate creates opportunities.
CHAPTER 3
Research Center for Applied Nuclear Physics, Dubna, Russia
Khamid used the robotic hands to thread the snake-like camera into the tear in the cylinder’s skin. The illumination from the ring of light surrounding its miniature lens was nothing compared to the glowing object inside, which pulsed like a miniature heartbeat.
