The Secret of Excalibur nwaec-3

by Andy McDermott

  At the far end of the hold, spotlights picked out a gleaming silver cross at the bottom of the final ring.

  Excalibur.

  ‘This is our earth energy generator,’ Mitchell announced proudly, ‘and it’s better than Vaskovich’s system in every way. For a start, it’s mobile; the lines of energy aren’t limited to dry land. They occur at sea, too, and we can move the ship to wherever the flux convergences are the strongest.’ His smugness increased when he saw that Nina was unable to conceal her awe at the scale of the structure. ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘I’d be a lot more impressed if it hadn’t been designed to kill people,’ she said acidly, taking his smile down several notches. She turned to a large screen on one wall which displayed a map of the North Pole, the shapes of the continents distorted around it. She located the United Kingdom near one edge of the map and looked polewards from it, seeing a green circle marked with longitude and latitude co-ordinates in the sea at the edge of the Arctic Circle between Norway and Iceland. ‘So that’s us, huh? I take it we’re not freezing our asses off in the middle of nowhere without a good reason.’

  ‘Damn straight.’ Mitchell went to one of the consoles, waved the technician manning it aside, and entered commands into the computer. More symbols appeared on the map: groups of green circles and red triangles in the open ocean between Russia and the polar icepack. ‘The red symbols are Russian warships.’

  ‘Red Russians? Gee, that’s original.’

  ‘I didn’t pick the colours. But the green symbols are the two carrier strike groups we’ve deployed in the Arctic Ocean, the Enterprise and the George Washington. I know you haven’t exactly seen much CNN for the last week, but I’m sure you remember that the Russians are being kinda belligerent about their territorial claims at the pole. There’s a lot of oil and gas up there, and they want it. They want it all.’

  ‘And you don’t want them to have it,’ said Nina, realising. ‘You’re going to sink their ships, aren’t you? You’re going to use this thing to blow them out of the water without anybody ever knowing who did it.’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Mitchell’s smug look disappeared, replaced by one of grim determination. ‘I’m going to use it to sink one of our ships.’

  ‘What?’ Nina gaped at him. ‘You want to blow up an American ship? Why?’

  ‘If one of our carriers gets attacked, it’ll automatically be assumed that it was by the Russians, and the other ships in the strike group will retaliate. We’ll take out the bulk of the Russian polar fleet, including their carrier, the Admiral Kuznetsov - their only carrier.’

  ‘But - but the Russians have nukes!’ Nina cried, horrified. ‘If you do this, it’ll escalate into World War Three!’

  ‘No. It won’t. The Russians don’t want Moscow to be nuked any more than we want to see New York go up. So after the initial skirmish, the hotlines’ll get real hot for a while, then things’ll gradually cool off. But the job’ll be done - the Russians will be out of the game. After that, there’ll only be one power in the Arctic. Us. We’ll control the resources up there, not them.’

  ‘But what if you’re wrong? What if the Russians don’t back down?’

  ‘Then,’ Mitchell said in a chillingly matter-of-fact tone, ‘we’ll have to deal with them. But it won’t come to that. The loss of the Enterprise’ll make it obvious to the world that we were the victims.’

  Nina was appalled. ‘You were an American naval officer! How can you even think about attacking one of our own ships?’

  ‘The Enterprise is fifty years old, and about to be decommissioned and scrapped anyway. This way, at least she serves a purpose for the good of the country.’

  ‘And what about the crew?’ Nina demanded. ‘There must be thousands of people on an aircraft carrier!’

  ‘Over four thousand.’

  ‘And are their deaths for the “good of the country” as well?’

  ‘I’m not taking this lightly,’ Mitchell insisted. He indicated the other people in the control room. ‘None of us are. But when those sailors signed up they took an oath to serve and protect the United States of America, and by securing those resources from the Russians that’s exactly what they’ll be doing. It’s all about power - the power to protect our future.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure their families’ll see it that way,’ Nina said angrily. ‘You really think the American people would approve of what you’re doing?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Mitchell. ‘Yes, I do. They want security and stability and cheap gas and American Idol, and they don’t want to get their own hands dirty to have it. I’m the one who gets my hands dirty, I have to live with it. But I will live with it. Just like all the others who’ve been doing the same thing for sixty years. Because we know we’re right.’

  ‘My God,’ Nina said despairingly. ‘You’re worse than Vaskovich. You honestly think you’re some kind of patriot, don’t you? You know what you actually are? Completely fucking batshit insane!’

  Mitchell regarded her silently for a long moment, then went to a locker and took out one of the futuristic-looking assault rifles she had seen him use in Russia. Before Nina realised what he was doing, he shot her in the thigh.

  She dropped to the floor, screaming and clutching the wound. The 3.6 millimetre bullet had gone cleanly through her right leg, Mitchell deliberately aiming to miss the bone and any major arteries - but it was still agonising. ‘Jesus Christ!’ she shrieked. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  ‘It’s just a scratch, a flesh wound,’ he replied with cold sarcasm. ‘I only need you alive. I don’t need you unhurt - and to be honest, I’ve had enough of the sound of your voice.’ He put down the rifle and turned to the startled occupants of the control room. ‘Stick a Band-Aid on that wound, then get her into position. It’s time.’

  ‘How much further?’ Chase asked over the incessant buzz of the propellers, surveying the darkness below.

  Amoros checked the plane’s instruments. ‘It can’t be much further, if it’s where my contact said it was.’ He gave Chase a look of concern. ‘Eddie, we’re getting close to the fuel limit. If we don’t find this ship in the next ten minutes, I’m going to have to head for land.’

  Chase wanted to order him to stay out for as long as it took them to locate Nina, but knew it was pointless. The Piper Seminole that Amoros had managed to wangle from another UN agency had already burned through more than half its fuel; even landing in nearer Norway rather than returning to Scotland would be cutting it fine.

  But he was sure Nina was out here. Amoros had made use of his Pentagon connections to probe more deeply into the recent actions of Jack Mitchell, and though it had taken several frustrating hours the name of a ship had eventually been provided: Aurora. Chase suspected that whoever gave Amoros the name had put their entire career on the line by doing so, but the former admiral had a lot of good friends in the military - and a lot of favours he could call in.

  The Aurora itself, when they looked up its details, seemed unremarkable: a container vessel of slightly under nine hundred feet in length, registered to a Panamanian shipping company - almost certainly a front. Why Mitchell would have taken Nina aboard, Chase wasn’t sure, but Amoros’s sources suggested that he had.

  So Chase was going aboard too.

  If they could find the Aurora in time.

  ‘I don’t know what you think you’re going to do,’ Amoros said, glancing across as Chase gave the pair of pistols he was carrying a final check, then attached a sheathed combat knife and two hand grenades to the webbing round his chest. ‘There’ll be an entire crew aboard, not just Mitchell.’

  ‘They won’t have any problems if they stay out of my way,’ Chase told him. ‘I’m just there to get Nina.’

  ‘And then what? Put a gun to the captain’s head and tell him to turn for port?’

  ‘If I have to. I’ll figure it all out when it happens.’

  Amoros was about to offer his opinion of Chase’s tactics, or lack thereof, when he spotted someth
ing in the distance. ‘I see a ship. Eleven o’clock.’

  ‘Got it.’ Chase scanned the cold sea through a pair of powerful binoculars, quickly picking out a cluster of lights in the ink-black void. ‘Container ship, could be the Aurora.’ The barely discernible flag at the stern looked Panamanian, but it was hard to be sure. ‘Get in closer.’

  Nina’s leg was being bandaged, but she was offered no painkillers. Her body fought her mind, wanting to shut down to find relief from the burning in her thigh, but she refused to cave in to it, doggedly resisting unconsciousness.

  ‘Is she ready?’ Mitchell asked impatiently.

  ‘Almost,’ replied the man securing the last of the bandages.

  ‘Bring the reactors up to stage one power. We’ve wasted enough time.’

  ‘Reactors?’ Nina asked. ‘This thing’s nuclear?’

  ‘From decommissioned Los Angeles-class subs. The generator needs a lot of power at start-up, just like Vaskovich’s.’ Mitchell turned to one of the technicians. ‘Once we’re steady at stage one, deploy the antenna array. Then charge up the magnets—’

  ‘Sir!’ called another man from across the room. ‘Radar contact changing course, coming straight for us.’

  ‘On screen,’ Mitchell snapped, facing the large display on the wall. The map zoomed in on a smaller area around the Aurora’s position. A yellow square was slowly moving towards it from the south. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Propeller aircraft, course track suggests it came from Scotland.’

  ‘Identify it!’

  ‘Got the transponder code, checking the tail number . . . It’s a United Nations plane, sir. Attached to the Oceanic Survey—’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Mitchell hissed under his breath. ‘It’s Chase, it has to be.’ Nina’s heart jumped at the name. ‘Someone at the Pentagon’s been talking to Amoros. God damn it!’

  Even through her discomfort, Nina managed a smile. ‘Oh, you’re in trouble now.’

  Mitchell glared at her. ‘Get her into position,’ he ordered. ‘And take down that plane!’

  Chase finished fastening his parachute straps and used the binoculars to take another look at the ship. It was now close enough to show that the flag was indeed that of Panama, and after a moment the name painted on the bow finally came into focus.

  Aurora.

  ‘That’s it!’ he said. ‘Okay, fly over it, I want a closer look.’ He glanced at the altimeter and saw that the Seminole was at slightly over seven thousand feet. When he was ready to jump, he would get Amoros to descend by a couple of thousand; he had no way to judge the wind, and wanted to minimise the chances of being blown away from the freighter.

  He looked back through the binoculars. The Aurora took on greater clarity as they approached. There was a helicopter on a pad behind the superstructure, which was unusual - most ships of the type would use the space for additional cargo - but the rest of the vessel seemed normal, high stacks of multicoloured containers filling its huge main deck.

  Movement caught his eye: someone emerging from the superstructure and crossing to the edge of the open wing bridge . . .

  He wasn’t going for a smoke.

  ‘Shit!’ Chase gasped. ‘Incoming!’ Amoros stared at him in disbelief. ‘They’ve got a Stinger!’ The man was hefting the tubular anti-aircraft missile launcher over his shoulder, lining up the heat-seeking head on their plane . . .

  ‘Jump!’ Amoros shouted. ‘Eddie, go!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Go!’

  With a last look at Amoros, Chase pushed open the door and flung himself out. The freezing wind was like a blow to the chest; he tumbled through the air before throwing his arms and legs wide to stabilise himself. The ship rolled into view, a splash of floodlit colour amongst the darkness.

  Orange light flared from the wing bridge. A Stinger missile leapt from the launcher, a spot of fire at the head of a column of smoke.

  The Seminole had already banked away, Amoros turning hard in an attempt to break the Stinger’s lock. Chase knew his chances weren’t good. The Stinger could take down fighter jets - a civilian twin-prop would be an easy target.

  The missile spiralled upwards as Chase fell, its sonic boom pounding him as it passed. He turned his head to track it—

  The Stinger hit the Seminole’s port engine and exploded, the wing blowing apart in a swelling fireball of burning fuel. The cabin windows flared white as an inferno swept through the fuselage, then the remains of the aircraft rolled in flames towards the hungry sea below.

  Chase had no time to think about Amoros. He was dropping fast, and the Aurora was still some distance ahead. He had no choice but to deploy his parachute - but if he was seen he would be an easy target, and he might still fall short of the ship . . .

  He pulled the ripcord. Nylon hissed out of the pack, blossoming above him into a dark rectangle. The harness snapped tight round his chest and shoulders.

  Had it slowed him enough? Or was he already too low?

  He guessed he was at about four thousand feet, but in the darkness it was difficult to be sure. He pulled the control cords, trying to give himself as much forward momentum as possible.

  All he could do now was hope.

  ‘Got it!’ the technician said. ‘Target is going down. It’s on fire.’

  ‘Monitor for distress calls,’ Mitchell ordered. ‘If there are any, jam them.’

  Nina’s brief elation turned to horror, part of her mind now wanting to follow the desire of her body and simply switch off to escape a new pain: loss. But again she refused to surrender.

  If Chase was gone . . . then she had to stop Mitchell.

  Somehow.

  ‘It just hit the water,’ said the technician a few seconds later. ‘No radio messages.’

  ‘Keep monitoring just in case. And deploy the antenna array.’ Mitchell pulled Nina roughly to her feet. She gasped in pain. ‘You wanted Excalibur?’ he said. ‘It’s yours - for the rest of your life.’

  Chase willed the parachute to stay aloft. He was almost in range of the slowly moving Aurora, just a few hundred feet away, but was still losing height too rapidly. He strained to hold his position, trying to eke out every last foot as he aimed for the containers . . .

  They moved.

  For a moment he was stunned, unable to take in what was happening. The container roofs were opening, each swinging up and round in a mechanical ballet like some monstrous transformer toy. More mechanisms came to life within, gleaming metal spears rising up and extending as their upper sections sprouted into giant alien sunflowers.

  The entire top layer of containers was nothing more than a disguise for an antenna array, smaller than the one surrounding Vaskovich’s facility but more dense, more complex, hundreds of glittering collectors ready to draw in the earth’s own energy . . . then unleash it.

  And Chase was falling right into them.

  He pulled the cords, trying to swing away from the antenna field towards the stern. It meant travelling further and running the risk of falling below the level of the deck, but it was better than being impaled as he landed. ‘Come on, come on, shiiiiit—’ Too low, moving too slowly . . .

  He thrust his feet out as he swept into one of the still-deploying antennas with a rattling clash of metal. The parachute swooshed over him, already collapsing as he was brought to a near-stop - the antenna was stronger than it looked, bending but not breaking.

  He fell, grabbing for one of the extended ‘petals’ to stop himself dropping into the pitch darkness inside the container. It twisted under his weight, creaking and screeching at its hinge, but didn’t give way. Half tangled in the parachute cords, Chase crashed against the antenna’s column. He flung his arms round it, sliding down as if on a fireman’s pole before hitting the metal floor.

  The parachute was caught in the antennas, flapping in the wind. He pulled the release and shrugged off the harness, then drew one of his guns with one hand, a small torch with the other.

  What looked on the outside l
ike a collection of individual containers was revealed as nothing more than a framework supporting a façade. The whole array was now fully raised, extending high above the open roofs. Chase directed the torch at the floor, which turned out to be a solid deck. That meant the containers below were fake too, a shell with something hidden inside. The antenna array gave him a pretty good idea what. The whole ship was a floating version of Vaskovich’s earth energy facility.

  Only Mitchell had designed this one for destruction, not production. And if the antennas were now in position . . .

  He ran through the metal forest towards the aft superstructure, hunting for a way in before anyone aboard realised they had a visitor.

  Mitchell and his two guards half carried, half dragged the struggling Nina along the length of the hold, the generator’s magnetic rings hanging threateningly overhead. Excalibur waited for them at the far end on what Nina now saw was a platform mounted on a crane arm that would lift it up to the centre of the ring. ‘You’ll be staying with us for a while,’ Mitchell told her. ‘At least until we can find someone else who can energise the sword.’

  ‘Gee, I feel so special,’ Nina snapped. ‘Didn’t you think about testing your own people before moving into kidnapping? You know, keep it in the psychotic, traitorous family.’

  ‘I did. Nobody worked. I would have gone wider, but trooping hundreds of people through the ultra-secret weapons platform and asking them to hold King Arthur’s sword to see if it glowed might have raised a few questions.’

  They reached the platform. Excalibur had been diligently polished, not a speck of dust on it. It rested point down in a black frame of carbon fibre, held in place by a clamp round the cross-guard. And there was another clamp, larger and more box-like, open and waiting round the hilt. Nina felt a chill. Inside the clamp was an indentation . . . just large enough for her hands to fit inside.

  Mitchell saw her growing look of horror. ‘Yeah, I thought you wouldn’t hold it voluntarily.’ He nodded, and the two men pushed her closer.