Bloodline: A Sigma Force Novel

by James Rollins

  Still, Edward hated to leave matters unsettled. He picked up a scalpel, stared at his hand, then placed the instrument gently back down. He couldn’t muster the strength to do it himself, not by his own hand.

  He turned back to the workstation and activated the laser-aligned trajectory preset into the machine. The robotic arm began its slow descent, the drill whining into a fierce whirr. The burr’s path into the cerebral cortex was already plotted—only now no one would be here to stop it as it penetrated deeper and deeper.

  Like a slow bullet through the skull.

  This is better, he consoled himself. She won’t feel a thing.

  With everything in order, Edward abandoned his workstation and rushed for the door. A final glance behind him showed the tip of the drill burr piercing the small blue X marked on Amanda’s skull. A drop of blood welled and rolled down her scalp, like a crimson tear.

  Good-bye, Amanda.

  3:40 A.M.

  Gray fled through a hellish landscape of black smoke and fiery molten metal, made even worse by the horde of metallic hunters, scrabbling toward him, racing atop legs as sharp as daggers.

  Kowalski crushed one of the hunters under his boot. The legs splayed out like a squashed spider—then reversed themselves, swinging up and latching onto Kowalski’s boot. The legs began sawing through the leather.

  Seichan went to his aid, cutting free his bootlaces in a single thrust of her throwing dagger. She pointed to the wall.

  Kowalski kicked his leg, sending his footwear and the clinging spider flying.

  Gray held others off with his pistol, knocking them back with each shot. Together, they retreated through the molten remains of the door, creating a fiery choke point against the hunters.

  Kowalski tried to bring his rifle to bear, hopping on one bloody foot, but Gray pointed down the hall. “Go after Tucker. We’ll hold them off here.”

  Kowalski didn’t have to be told twice, mumbling, “Hate friggin’ spiders …”

  Seichan popped off a couple of shots with her SIG Sauer. “Must be some sort of automated defense system.”

  He agreed. He had expected the base to have built-in countermeasures—but never this. He knew DARPA was working on research projects along these lines, an experimental program to develop robotic swarms, for coordinated attack, surveillance, and defensive systems. He’d seen footage from a university in England where they’d successfully developed such a swarm. And it wasn’t just small robots. He’d witnessed the completion of a cheetah-size robot in a DARPA lab that could run faster than a human.

  Likely the countermeasures here at the base were meant to hunt, distract, and stall the enemy until a security team could mobilize. Still, the automatons by themselves were deadly enough, and bullets hardly slowed them down.

  “Here they come,” Seichan warned.

  A wave of razor-edged steel came crashing toward them.

  3:44 A.M.

  Tucker tore down the hallway, chasing after Kane’s tail. He strained for the sound of any threat, eyes unblinking, breath shallow. But he didn’t have to rely on his senses alone.

  A growl reached his ears, a warning.

  A man in a white lab coat stepped into the hallway ahead, raising an arm.

  Tucker shot him in the face.

  As he rushed past the man, he saw his hands were empty. A twinge of guilt flickered—but it quickly died. The two other people he’d already shot had been holding weapons. He couldn’t take the chance.

  Besides, after all he’d seen in the past minute, no one down here deserved to take another breath. He’d passed lab after lab, saw things he wished he could un-see. A chill remained at the base of his spine, picturing the disembodied head hanging from a rack above a beating heart.

  Who the hell does something like that?

  And why?

  Kane continued his headlong rush, his nose sniffing at corners or in the air. He had found Amanda’s scent.

  Finally, Kane skidded to a stop, sliding a couple of feet, then returning to a closed door. Tucker met his partner there. A tiny window revealed a long washbasin, a wall of sterilized green packs, and packets of cellophane-sealed scrub brushes.

  A surgical prep room.

  Amanda’s trail led here.

  That earlier chill spread up his spine.

  Holding his pistol at the ready, he shouldered through the door and scanned the space for any hostiles. Empty. But a wide window looked into a neighboring surgical suite. A woman lay sprawled and draped atop a stainless-steel table, her upper body locked into some device. A robotic arm vibrated above her shaved head.

  Amanda …

  He had studied the photo of the president’s daughter well enough to recognize her from her features alone. Kane pawed at the door into the operating theater. He knew the truth, too.

  Tucker hurried into the surgical room, finding the place otherwise deserted. A whirring buzz drew his attention back to Amanda. He stepped to her side, aghast as he recognized the source of the noise.

  Blood flowed in a thick rivulet from a drill bit burrowing into her skull. He dashed around the table, unsure what to do. Kane danced at his side, reading his anxiety but not knowing how to help.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” he assured his friend.

  But it was far from okay.

  Tucker followed the electrical cord from the robotic arm to a workstation. Not knowing what else to do, he yanked out the wall plug. The whining drone died away.

  Tucker studied Amanda, watching her chest rise and fall.

  At least she’s still alive.

  He studied the length of steel still embedded in her head. He had to free her, but how? He dared not yank that drill free or risk more damage to her skull.

  He searched around and saw what looked like a miniature set of bolt cutters—surgical pin cutters. He grabbed them up, positioned them along the shaft of the burr, about an inch from Amanda’s skull, and pinched the cutters closed. A loud snap, and she was free of the robotic arm.

  Next, Tucker set about detaching her from the cushioned head clamp and unhooking her from the anesthetic machine.

  Focused on the task, he was startled to hear a voice ask, “What’s that sticking out of her head?”

  He swung around. Kowalski limped toward him on a bloody foot.

  “How did you find me?” Tucker asked.

  “Followed the trail of dead bodies. Then saw him in the hall.”

  Kane panted at the doorway, guarding Tucker’s back, as usual, making sure no hostiles crept up on him.

  Kowalski again pointed to Amanda’s skull. “What is that?”

  “A drill bit.”

  “What? Why—?”

  “How the hell do I know? Just help me.”

  “I got her.” Kowalski stepped over and scooped Amanda into his arms as if she weighed no more than a scarecrow.

  And maybe that’s all she is—a scarecrow with no brain.

  Either way, she needed help.

  “Where are Gray and Seichan?” Tucker asked, collecting his dog.

  Kowalski headed toward the door with Amanda. “Trust me, you’re better off not knowing.”

  3:46 A.M.

  Seichan and Gray retreated farther down the hall, away from the silvery horde as it crashed against the fiery, melted doorway. A brush against the molten metal incinerated several of the automatons. Those that made it past then did a strange thing: they circled and returned to the doorway, ignoring Gray and Seichan.

  For the moment, the horde remained clustered at the doorway, scrabbling over the red-hot metal, attacking it, burning themselves, even melting into the molten remains of the door.

  “It’s the heat,” Seichan said. “That’s what draws them. They must be programmed to hunt body heat.”

  And, it seemed, any hot source would do. Beyond the doorway, Gray watched several of them rushing to the molten patches of steel on the floor, destroying themselves.

  But as the steel began to cool, the occasional automaton tried to ski
tter their way. A few well-placed rounds discouraged such trespassing.

  Seichan glanced back. “Should we start looking—”

  The entire world shook with a sonic boom, strong enough to knock Gray to one knee. After that thunderous eruption, a strong vibration persisted, humming strongly enough to make his back molars ache. A change in air pressure made his ears pop.

  Seichan shared a glance with Gray.

  The fear in her eyes matched his own.

  A few inches of water suddenly flowed into the hallway, as if from a burst pipe. Gray pictured the pylon that hid this base.

  It was really just one monstrous pipe.

  More icy water began surging, swirling.

  Kowalski appeared around a corner of the hall, splashing toward them, holding an unconscious woman in his arms. Her head lolled toward Gray as Kowalski shifted her higher in his arms. Despite the lack of hair, he immediately recognized her.

  Amanda … she’s alive!

  But they didn’t have time to celebrate.

  “What’s happening?” Kowalski hollered.

  Tucker and Kane followed him, both looking equally concerned.

  Seichan bent down, dipped a finger, and tasted it. “Salty.”

  That left no doubt.

  “They’ve busted their own pipe,” Gray said and pointed to the elevator. “Place is flooding. Out! Now!”

  3:55 A.M.

  We often give our enemies the means to our own destruction.

  Edward remembered that quote from Aesop, learned back in his Eton College days when he was a young boy. Though taken out of context now, it still felt apt as he watched the annihilation from the window of the small evacuation boat.

  The air-lock-sealed boats were positioned like blisters along the circumference of the center pylon. Tracks ran up the outside of the column and across the underside of the support platform, traveling out along the five arms of the star—until they were jettisoned free of the island.

  Patrols already awaited the evacuees’ arrival.

  Especially the precious cargo Edward held in his lap.

  The newborn, swaddled warmly and mewling softly, held so much promise: both for those Edward served and himself. The child was insurance that he would be saved from a watery grave. He had placed a frantic call upon securing the child, reporting the attack.

  But word had already reached the source of that cold, computerized voice. MATTERS ARE BEING TAKEN CARE OF. ENSURE THE CHILD IS SAFE.

  He intended to do just that.

  He stared out the window. The boat could hold ten people, but he and Petra had the vessel to themselves.

  Beyond the boat, the world was as dark as the deepest cavern. He had watched the flashes of blue lightning along the length of the central pylon as they made their escape, the explosive charges shattering the steel inside the concrete walls, weakening the entire structure. The immense mass of the tower above would continue that destruction, pulverizing and crushing all beneath it.

  And it wasn’t just this one pylon.

  Out in the darkness, blue lightning bloomed and burst across the forest of stone out there, corrupting the entire understory of the island. Thunder echoed and shook their boat. For a moment, the world beyond appeared like an electric forest in the night, wondrous to behold, breathtaking in its devastation.

  He remembered another proverb as he stared, pining for the simpler times of his youth.

  All good things must come to an end.

  3:56 A.M.

  “Run!” Gray yelled and pointed to the elevator.

  Together, the team slogged through calf-deep icy water.

  Kowalski hauled Amanda, high-stepping his way, wary of any straggling steel spiders in the lobby. But the last of the automatons had succumbed to the icy flood.

  They made it to the elevators, which still had power—but for how long? Gray hit the call button to open the doors.

  Another violent quake shook the facility, accompanied by a muffled boom as something gave way. A surge of water rolled down the hallway, funneling toward them, building power.

  The doors opened, too slowly.

  The wave of water hit them, driving them into the cage. They were waist-deep in seconds. The cold cut to the bone. Already shivering, Seichan hurried and pressed the lobby button. Gray held his breath. They all stared up, silently praying the motors still had power.

  He pictured the turbines he’d seen above—the key word being above. The main power generators should still be high and dry.

  This proved to be the case, as the elevator began to rise. The water level steadily drained as the cage lifted out of the rising flood. They all let out a loud sigh of relief.

  A soft groan rose from Amanda as the effects of the anesthetic began to wear off. A promising sign, despite the piece of surgical drill still lodged in her skull. Once safe, they could attempt—

  A mighty shake threw them all to one side of the cage.

  Again, Gray’s ears popped.

  A low rumble rose beneath them, growing louder, sounding like a freight train hurling straight at them. He pictured a column of water chasing up the elevator shaft as the pylon’s caisson finally imploded beneath them.

  “We’re passing the service levels,” Seichan said, reaching a hand to his forearm, squeezing all her hope into that rock-hard grip.

  Almost there.

  They should be safe once the elevator climbed above sea level and reached the dry lobby above.

  Then the lights went out.

  Their ascent came to a shaky stop.

  Kowalski swore brightly in the darkness.

  “The generators,” Seichan whispered.

  The floodwaters must have swamped that level—and continued to rise. The roar of the freight train grew to a howl beneath them.

  “Hold on!” Gray shouted.

  A force struck the underside of the carriage, driving the cage up the shaft in a bone-jarring, rattling ascent.

  At least they were headed in the right direction—but for how long?

  “Tucker, help me get the doors open!”

  Gray knew they would have only one chance. Once the powerful surge receded, the cage would go crashing back down with it.

  With urgency firing their efforts, the two forced the elevator open. The walls of the shaft blurred past them—then the outer-lobby doors sprang into view. The cage settled to a bobbling, shaking stop there, balanced on the tip of a powerful fountain.

  But only for a moment.

  Water flooded into the open cage, swamping the space and causing it to slowly sink.

  “Hurry!”

  Gray and Tucker hauled on the outer-lobby doors, cracking them wide enough for the others to evacuate. Seichan helped Kowalski with Amanda’s limp form. All the while, the cage continued to flood and submerge deeper.

  Tucker used a free arm to push Kane through the shrinking doorway—then nodded to Gray. They were both chest-deep in water. Only half the cage was still at the lobby level.

  “Go!” Tucker said.

  “Together,” Gray argued.

  They didn’t have the luxury of counting to three—both simply dove through the opening, their feet pulling free of the cage just as it sank away down the shaft behind them.

  Gray helped Tucker stand.

  They sloshed a few steps, relieved to be alive.

  Seichan crouched by Kowalski, examining Amanda, checking her condition. When she stood, she wore a worried look.

  “What?” Gray asked.

  “She’s had her baby.”

  Tucker splashed closer. “But her belly’s still big.”

  “Was bigger, I guess.” Kowalski carried her to the steps to get her out of the water.

  “She’s early,” Seichan said. “Either stress caused her to deliver prematurely or they induced her to get the baby.”

  Tucker stared toward the flooded elevator, his face crushed with guilt. “I didn’t know. If I had, I could’ve searched longer. Tried to find the baby.”

 
Gray placed a hand on his shoulder. “We barely made it out as it was. If you’d delayed even another minute, Amanda could have died. We all could have died. And there’s no saying the baby was born alive. Or maybe he was already evacuated out.”

  Tucker looked little comforted by this logic, and stared at the door. His dog came up and nudged his hand with his nose. Tucker rubbed the side of Kane’s face, finding solace there instead of words.

  Gray turned away, splashing across—splashing?

  He stared down at his feet, still ankle-deep in water. “Why is it still flooded up here?”

  “It’s not just here,” Seichan said from a few yards away. She pointed across the lobby to the glass entrance of the Burj Abaadi.

  Gray stared out, shocked.

  The starlit park beyond the tower was flooded. Black waves washed through the trees and crashed against the steps of the tower.

  He understood immediately. The Guild never took half-measures when it came to covering their tracks. They hadn’t just shattered the one support pylon as a fail-safe.

  They had shattered all of them.

  He knew what that meant, a dreadful and frightening truth.

  The whole island is sinking.

  29

  July 2, 8:01 P.M. EST

  Orangeburg, South Carolina

  They’d been on the road for an hour, heading west out of Charleston. Kat noted a sign that read ORANGEBURG. Her captors—the head of the fertility clinic, Dr. Paul Cranston, and his three men—kept mostly to the back roads, racing at speeds too fast for the rural areas.

  Cranston spent most of the trip on his cell phone. Kat eavesdropped, but she learned little from his end of the conversations. Plainly he and the others still didn’t know what had happened at the clinic, didn’t know the true source of that fiery destruction sat in the backseat of their Ford explorer.

  Kat wasn’t about to fill him in, but from the glance over his shoulder, Cranston clearly suspected the cause. But apparently any questions would wait until they reached their destination.

  She gleaned that last bit of intelligence from a phone conversation moments later. Cranston sat straighter for that call, the perpetual edge of disdain in his voice gone, his tone turned subservient, frightened.