He saw Bishop and Lynn nodding in agreement, and then he saw the looks of skepticism on the faces of the others. Queen broke the silence. “Even if you’re right, how can you know that the tunnel is still intact? Still passable?”
“I think they’re still using it. It will be dry during winter. And probably a lot warmer than being on the surface.”
Rook studied the small hole where the channel disappeared into the stone. “If we pack some semtex in there, we could probably blow open a hole big enough to squeeze through. But there’s a chance we’ll collapse the tunnel.”
“Then we’ll think of something else.”
“Found it,” Deep Blue said. “Veles, or Volos, is the ancient Slavic god of death and the underworld.”
“As good a name as any for an underground city.”
“You know what this means, right?” Rook said. “We’re going to hell.”
“Pretty much.”
38
The Mil Mi-8 helicopter settled onto the hangar landing platform. It was the same make as the military aircraft that had been stolen, only ninety minutes earlier. The resemblance ended there. This aircraft was equipped with external fuel tanks, and it bristled with antennae and defensive electronic counter-measures. Instead of spare utilitarian military appointments, the interior was lavishly decorated, with plush club chairs and sofas, wood trim, in-flight communications and video and even a restroom. It had everything needed to ensure the comfort and safety of the VIP passenger who rode aboard.
Catherine waited at the edge of the platform with Alexei and the rest of the staff. A contingent of plainclothes agents of the Presidential Security Service debarked and fanned out in a protective ring around the aircraft. Once they were in place, the President of Russia stepped down onto the platform. His gaze swept the hangar, pausing here and there to take in the scars of the earlier battle.
The subhumans had tended to their own, wailing mournfully as they carried the bodies of their fallen kin away, transporting the corpses down to the old city, far below the research levels…where it lived. She didn’t like to think about what dwelled in the depths, or the fact that the subhumans and almases had an almost worshipful respect for both the creature and the old city. It was like a religion to them, and in a way, she supposed that was the best word for it. What was that thing down there, if not a god?
What bothered her most about it though was the fact that the creatures, which she always told herself were merely animals—trained attack dogs—were even capable of such abstract reasoning. Despite the fact that they were animals, engineered for ruthless efficiency in battle, the hybrids carried in their genes the social traits of both their simian and human progenitors. Catherine found that more than a little disturbing. They were far too human for her liking, and their loud grieving and bizarre rituals of death had driven her to Alexei’s laboratory, which was, she had to admit, only a mildly preferable alternative.
Simply being in the presence of the odious Alexei felt like a punishment. Maybe she deserved that. She had allowed her curiosity about her own origin to override her need to maintain control of the situation. That had given King the opportunity to slip through her grasp.
Of course, the rest of it was Alexei’s fault, and by extension, the President’s. She had succeeded in every task she had been given, from ruling the Consortium to creating the supply stations. If Operation Perun succeeded, it would be because of her, not in spite of her. She was not really sure why the President was so insistent upon carrying out the operation now. The Consortium already more or less ruled the world, and since they ruled the Consortium, his ultimate goal had already been realized. But she knew the President would not see it that way, just as he would not hold Alexei accountable for King’s escape.
The bodies had all been cleared away, but there was no hiding the pools of drying blood or the damage from the RPG round that had exploded in the hallway leading from the hangar. It was glaring evidence of the security breach that had threatened her mentor’s master plan. As he strode toward them, Catherine braced herself for the expected eruption of wrath.
To her surprise and dismay, the President instead embraced Alexei like a long lost son, kissing him on the cheeks. Alexei in turn swelled with pride at the attention from his benefactor. Then the President held him at arm’s length and affected a more serious manner. “Now Alexei, tell me, when will we have the Firebird?”
Alexei’s expression seemed to melt and his bottom lip started to quiver. Catherine thought he might burst into tears. “I am trying. I’ve followed your instructions to the letter.”
The President nodded and clapped his shoulders. “Then you will succeed.”
“I was able to prepare more of the serum using bone marrow harvested from…ah…” He glanced nervously at Catherine. “King. But he escaped before I could move to Phase Two.”
“What happened?”
“We were attacked.”
“I can see that. How did they get in?”
Alexei’s eyes went wide. “I do not know.”
“Don’t you think it would be wise to find out? To prevent another such incursion?”
The young man nodded, sheepishly.
The President held his stare for a moment, then turned to Catherine. “What is the extent of the damage?”
“The facility is intact,” she said. “The damage is mostly cosmetic. We’re still assessing the loss of resources, but I would estimate we’re down sixty to seventy percent of the subhumans. No one is certain what happened to the almases.”
The President glanced at Alexei. “No? The attacking force would have had to get past them, would they not?”
“One assumes,” Catherine said, dryly. “The only other loss of consequence was my helicopter. They stole it.”
“And?”
“I destroyed it,” Alexei said, eager to claim a victory and restore some face. “They are all dead.”
“Are you certain? Have you gone to investigate the wreckage?”
“We did register a large explosion,” Catherine said. “Too large to have been just the missiles. Our hypothesis is that Firebird in the test subject, whom they rescued, reacted with the radar beams from the missile.”
The President nodded in understanding. “So that unfortunate side effect has finally worked in our favor. All the same, a company of Spetsnaz is on their way here. They should be arriving shortly. I will have them sweep the area of the wreckage, just to be sure.” He turned back to Alexei. “Go to the laboratory. I will join you shortly.”
“I will still need another test subject.”
“I will provide you with one.” The President clapped the young man’s shoulders again and let go, dismissing him. Then he faced Catherine fully. “I’ve brought someone along who wants very badly to meet you.”
Catherine felt great apprehension as she watched the helicopter’s other passenger climb out onto the platform. She recognized the man instantly: Peter Machtchenko, the spy. Yet she knew he was much more than that. He was the father of King—Jack Sigler. That meant he was also the father of Julie Sigler. Judging by the awed expression on his face as he approached her, Peter clearly believed the same thing as his wife and son—that she was Julie.
And perhaps she was.
Catherine Alexander did not remember her childhood. Her first memory was of waking up in a bed, in a private hospital facility outside of Moscow. Everything before that was a blank slate. Even basic motor and language skills had been erased. She had proved a quick study however. At the urging of her mentor—he had not even been President, then—she had adopted an American persona. She had learned not only English, but American customs and behaviors at an old KGB training facility. Probably the very same facility where Peter and Lynn Machtchenko had learned how to effortlessly wrap themselves in the American Dream.
During that period of learning—relearning, she supposed—it had never occurred to her that she was missing something, missing the memories of childhood. It was not like am
nesia. There was no gap, no sense of loss. No burning need to find out where she had come from or who her parents were.
Then King and Lynn Machtchenko had shown up, telling her she was Julie Sigler.
She was not oblivious to the fact of her missing childhood. It was the one thing that set her apart from everyone she had ever known. It was the reason why she saw the world and everyone in it—almost everyone—as a puzzle. They were chess problems, to be solved logically, without emotion. Ultimately, knowing who her parents were would change nothing about who she was.
So how was she supposed to react to this man walking toward her, looking at her like she was his long-lost daughter?
She thought he would say something maudlin, perhaps attempt to embrace her or break down in tears, but he did not. Although he could not completely hide his emotions upon seeing her, he stood back a few steps, as if content to simply behold her.
“I know that you don’t remember me,” he said, addressing her in English. “He told me what happened, how you were brought back after the plane crash.”
“There is much that you do not know, Catherine.” The President paused. “Catherine,” he repeated, savoring the name in his mouth. “You have always known that is not your true name. I gave you that name as a way of inspiring you to greatness. Names are very important.” His tone changed, becoming cryptic, as if this last statement was another puzzle for her to solve.
“It is good that this reunion should happen now, on the verge of the next step in our journey. Everything has been leading to this. You already know much of what I am about to tell you, but you do not yet see how it fits into my broader vision.
“You are Julie, the daughter of Peter and Lynn. You were raised in the United States, where you joined their Air Force and became a fighter pilot. The union of your parents was no accident. They are both heirs to the ancient bloodline of Adoon, an immortal wanderer who first appeared more than three thousand years ago.
“Peter, you and your wife were brought together to refine the bloodline, and Catherine—Julie—was the culmination of that design.” He turned to Catherine. “You were meant for great things. Your death in that plane crash did not change that.
“I was able to procure your physical remains and reconstitute your body using an ancient elixir developed by Adoon himself. I grew you, but while your body is in every way the body of Julie Sigler, the culmination of your life experience—your memories—could not be regrown. That is why you have no recollection of your past.”
Catherine shrugged. The revelation was not unexpected, and as such, was of no consequence to her.
“What’s this journey you’re talking about?” Peter asked. “And how does Julie fit into it?”
Catherine had always believed she knew the answer to this, but she now realized that, while she understood her mentor’s bold plan, she did not fully comprehend his motivations.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Genrikh Ludvig?”
Catherine had, of course, but Peter shook his head.
“In the 1930s, a man calling himself Ludvig was arrested by the NKVD. His research into ancient mysteries led him to the Vatican. Stalin thought to make him an agent provocateur on behalf of the Soviet Union. When Ludvig refused, Stalin accused him of colluding with the Vatican. He was sentenced to the GULAG. That punishment would have been a death sentence for an ordinary man, but Ludvig was not an ordinary man, a fact which did not escape Stalin’s notice.
“After the war, Ludvig was put in charge of special scientific research projects. He chose to build a secret laboratory here, on the remains of an ancient prehistoric city he had learned of in his research. A city built by a race of giants, unknown to history but remembered in our folk tales. Ludvig called it Volosgrad, the city of the god of the underworld.
“His first task was to revisit the ape hybrid experiments of Ilya Ivanovich Ivanov. Stalin knew that Russia could not endure another war on the scale of the Great Patriotic War. He believed an army raised to fight the West might turn against him. But an army of loyal subhumans would give him the military might he needed to take the rest of Europe. Of course, the discovery of the atom bomb changed all that. Ludvig succeeded where Ivanov had failed, and in ways that he could not have imagined. He used genetic material recovered from the remains of the ancient giants themselves. Of course, by the time his experiments bore fruit, there was no longer any need for such an army, but the research itself proved invaluable.
“Ludvig was quick to grasp that the giants were not merely some evolutionary aberration, but they were in fact visitors from the stars. He called them ‘the Originators,’ for they had brought with them the catalyst to advance primates to Homo sapiens, and also the means to unlock evolution itself.”
Peter had been following along with rapt interest, which Catherine found surprising given the astonishing nature of what he was being told. “Ludvig was the immortal? Adoon?”
The President regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. “No. But he was of the bloodline, a descendant of Adoon, who had discovered the treasured secret of immortality. All offspring of Adoon carry a genetic link to the Originators, which enabled Ludvig to utilize the evolutionary gift left by them. He not only produced man-ape hybrids, but he unlocked other physical properties undreamt of by Ivanov or Stalin. He also foresaw, as many of his age did, the possibility that humans would not survive to take that next evolutionary step. As an immortal, he might survive total nuclear war, but the rest of the human race, not to mention the bloodline of Adoon, would be wiped out.
“To remove that threat, he set out to engineer a serum that would immunize against the effects of radiation. The immortality serum could do that, of course, but only for that small percentage of the population who were descended from Adoon himself. And immortality for all would pose other problems, which might prove even more catastrophic than the bomb. Ludvig labored for many years to synthesize a formula that would make it possible for Russia to survive such a war and rise from the ashes like the phoenix of legend. He called it Firebird.”
“A serum like that would have strategic implications,” Peter said. “The army that possessed it would not hesitate to use nuclear weapons against their enemies.”
The President raised an eyebrow, as if both impressed and a little dismayed at Peter’s accusatory tone. “Ludvig did not share Stalin’s vision, but he saw no other way to ensure the survival of both Mother Russia and the bloodline of Adoon. For that reason, it is perhaps fortuitous that he was not entirely successful. The Firebird serum did enable the body to purge itself of radiation before cellular damage could occur, but much like the immortality elixir, it had dire side effects.
“In 1959, a group of trekkers unknowingly ingested some of the serum. At the time, wastewater from the facility fed into the reactor cooling system. The steam was vented and mixed with snow, which the trekkers melted for drinking water. A military helicopter investigating their camp inadvertently exposed them to radar beams, which triggered a reaction in their cells. Their bones began to burn inside their bodies, driving them to madness.”
“The Dyatlov Pass incident,” Peter murmured.
“Yes. Three of the hikers were affected. The others died from exposure as a result of the panic that ensued. Those young people had received only a very small dose, and their tissues had only trace amounts of radiation from long range exposure to atomic testing. Higher doses of radiation would have resulted in more catastrophic effects. That unfortunate accident revealed the fundamental flaw in Ludvig’s research. High frequency electromagnetic radiation, whether from radar beams or the electromagnetic pulse of nuclear fission, triggered an explosive reaction. Instead of creating a formula that would enable a person to survive an atom bomb, Ludvig had done almost exactly the opposite.”
Catherine well knew the truth of that. The destruction of the escaping helicopter with King and his team had been caused by an intentional application of that principal. The captured American Special
Forces soldier, whom Alexei had initially believed to be King, had received the latest version of the Firebird and subsequent doses of radiation to test its efficacy. When the radar from the air-defense system had swept the helicopter, it had triggered an explosive reaction.
The President continued. “Ludvig realized that, just as with the immortality elixir, human tissue could not withstand the underlying process. He recognized that there was some unique trait in the genes of the bloodline of Adoon that enabled them to survive, where an ordinary person could not—even when the bloodline was severely diluted. This, of course, was before the discovery of the DNA molecule or the sequencing of the human genome. With such technology at his disposal, he would surely have succeeded then and there. Instead, he turned his attention to restoring the line of Adoon. It would be a monumental task, but if there is one thing an immortal has, it is patience.”
Catherine saw Peter’s eyes widen in surprise.
He’s figured it out, she thought.
“You’re Ludvig?”
The President inclined his head. “One of the drawbacks of being an immortal is that people start to notice that you aren’t aging. For a time, I was able to create the illusion of age with theatrical make-up, but to succeed in my plan, I knew it would be necessary to become someone else. Someone with resources not available to a mere scientist, and a former dissident at that, in the Soviet Union. What better place to start than in the heart of the enemy camp? I created a new persona, joined the KGB and began my climb to the top, all the while secretly engineering the downfall of the Soviet empire from within. I told you, Peter. I have always played the long game.”
To her surprise, Peter’s face darkened with rage. “So all of this? My marriage to Lynn, my family, what you did to Julie… It was all so you could have more lab rats? An unending supply of DNA to help you perfect your serum?” His eyes darted back and forth as his brain made yet more connections. “You told me… You sick bastard. You told me this was all a setup to trap Jack. You said that Lynn and Jack had been caught, but what you really meant was that you have them.”
Empire (A Jack Sigler Thriller Book 8) Page 26
