by Greig Beck
Alex held up a clenched fist to signal the team to halt. Guns pointed up and down the curving corridor as the men waited for his signal to proceed or withdraw. Adira stepped in front of Zach to keep him sandwiched between the wall and herself. Their breathing slowed; all was still and silent.
Alex could sense something. The floor wasn’t empty – he’d expected that – but the presence was… strange. He was relieved to sense that it wasn’t the monster, but something human, or almost human. It seemed captive or somehow bound. Alive, but not fully living; tortured and longing to… not exist.
Maybe a prisoner; could be useful.
Alex cleared his mind and listened more intently; breathed in his surroundings. He closed his eyes and pushed out further. He grunted softly: it hurt. The pain surged through his head like a red tidal wave and washed down the back of his neck. An image formed then faded, and the contact dissipated like a dream.
Alex slowly breathed in and out. Gradually, the raging fire in his skull weakened and died down to smouldering embers. He opened his eyes and blinked. It took a few seconds before his vision cleared.
‘Are we okay, boss?’ Sam whispered beside him, keeping his eyes on the corridor.
‘Fine. Stay alert – there’s someone ahead.’
Alex motioned to proceed and the team crept forward, staying flat to the inside wall.
There was door after door and little else. Alex was confident that, between them, Sam or Irish could open any barrier they came across. But so far nothing was locked. For ten minutes the HAWCs went down the corridor checking rooms – they found nothing but empty storage rooms and plain square cells containing a bed, toilet and sink. None of them looked like they’d ever been used.
Until Lagudi opened one of the doors.
‘Jesus Christ!’ He fell back out of the doorway and scrambled to the opposite wall, his gun held out in front of him. With his other hand he crossed himself and then pointed.
Alex drew his gun, pointed at Sam and O’Riordan and then in both directions along the corridor. Each posted himself at opposite ends of the stretch of corridor, ten feet from Alex and the rest of the team.
Rocky had gotten to his feet and was breathing fast. Alex gave him a look that made the stocky little HAWC nod and mouth I’m okay. He still kept his gun on the open door.
Alex could feel waves of self-loathing and anguish pouring from the room. Our captive, he thought as he stepped over the threshold.
Though it was dark inside, a harsh band of light from the corridor lit something that was propped up on the bed. It was barely recognisable as human; its mass glistened redly, as if a thousand arteries had ruptured and bathed it in sticky blood and other bodily fluids. It quivered, probably in fear.
It took all of Alex’s resolve to look the being in the face. If it hadn’t been moving, he would not have believed it had ever been alive. Its body looked torn and stretched, as if it had undergone terrible torture. Its tongue protruded like the cap of a huge mushroom, and a soft mewling emanated from the broad slit of its mouth.
Alex holstered his gun. Almost immediately the thing began to raise itself up. Alex slowed his breathing again, not only to settle his nerves but also to reduce the intake of the foul smell in the room. Now closer, he could see that metallic fragments were embedded in the creature’s flesh; not shrapnel but something that seemed fused into it. A long thin appendage – Alex thought it might be an arm – lifted towards him.
‘Can you understand me?’ Alex asked, holding out his hand. The limb, reddish-white, brushed his fingertips… and an image began to form in Alex’s mind.
‘Ai-yish!’ Adira had entered the room. She hissed something more in Hebrew then drew her gun. Alex swept his hand up quicker than she could move, knocking the weapon out of her grasp.
His contact with the misshapen form was broken and it collapsed back like a wave on the shoreline.
Alex turned to Adira. ‘It’s… he’s not dangerous. Get Dr Shomron in here.’
Adira stood transfixed for a moment, revulsion pulling her features into a grimace. Alex handed her gun back. ‘And you wait outside,’ he told her. She made a guttural sound in the back of her throat and left.
Zach came into the room quickly, stumbling slightly. Alex guessed that Adira had given him a little push to help him make his mind up about entering. He stood there with his mouth open and stared for several seconds before whispering, ‘O Elokim Yerachem; oh my God. Do
… do you think he understands us?’
‘I think so, but I doubt we’ll ever understand him. His mouth doesn’t work properly.’
Alex stepped forward and the thing rose up slightly, drawing back into the corner where the walls met. He made a gesture of reassurance and said to Zach, ‘Could this be the result of proximity to a black hole?’
Zach put his fist over his nose to mask the smell. ‘Yes, spaghettification – the theoretical elongation of the atomic structure of matter. Just astrophysics conjecture, really… I used to think.’ He shook his head. ‘He shouldn’t even be alive. Forget about the gravitational deformity – he should have been radiated down to a molecular disintegration point. He must have been shielded from the worst of it somehow. He’s lucky to be alive.’
Alex looked at Zach with a creased brow and the young Israeli realised what he’d said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean lucky as in -’
‘Doesn’t matter, forget it. Was this an accident, do you think? Some sort of side effect?’
The miserable being was once again reaching out with its long, raw-looking appendage. Alex’s fingers touched the fleshy tentacle as it waved towards him.
‘It’s an effect, sure,’ Zach replied, backing up as Alex and the creature made contact. ‘But I don’t yet know enough about what they’re doing to know whether it’s a side effect or the end result. The thing is, the colossal forces they’re playing around with could wipe most life from the planet, with any survivors being left… like this.’
Zach backed up some more. ‘Who was he?’
Alex felt a soft wetness as the long wet tentacle stuck to his fingertips. ‘Maybe a test subject; a volunteer – who knows? Some people sacrifice their all for what they believe in.’
‘Yes. Yes, I understand sacrifice,’ Zach said, near the door now.
An image flashed into Alex’s mind – so clear that the event could have been occurring right before him. A young handsome man in a blue, cheaply cut suit, a stiff white shirt and no tie stood beside a girl with beautiful honey-coloured skin. A scarf of royal blue covered her hair. The man looked down at her and smiled as he felt her squeeze his hand. Alex felt the man’s emotions: a love so strong that it made the wave of sadness that came next all the more pitiful.
The image dimmed, there was a moment of nausea and pain, then darkness as dead and cold as the void of space. Light came again, but changed, warped and unclear. The man was back and alone, and not even a man anymore.
Alex went to drop his hand, but the long thin whip held on tightly. The man wanted to impart one last image. Alex looked into the milky, elongated eye and nodded his understanding.
‘Thanks, Dr Shomron,’ he said quietly over his shoulder. Join the others. I’ll be out in a moment.’
When Zach was out of the room, Alex drew his longest knife from its scabbard and stepped forward.
THIRTY-NINE
Alex came out of the room with a face as hard as a tablet of stone. There was blood on his sleeve and he could feel a deep anger burning within him. Not because of the merciful act of execution he had just performed, but directed at the people who had first caused that poor man’s terrible injuries and then kept him alive, imprisoned and wallowing in his own filth. This black-hole technology is not a good thing for any country to possess, he thought.
He made a small twirling motion in the air and pointed back to the doorway they had first come through. The HAWCs immediately holstered their weapons and headed silently and quietly for the exit. The second floor was clear, so there
was less need for caution and more for speed. Sam grabbed Zach and pulled him along.
As the HAWCs rounded the final bend in the corridor, there they were, pouring from the elevator – the ten Takavaran that had been assigned to sweep this floor for the intruders. They fanned out to cover the stairwell exit door as well, then stopped as they saw the Americans.
Time seemed to stretch as surprise momentarily froze both forces. Under Alex’s command, the HAWCs reacted first. He ordered them to charge the exit rather than retreat the way they had come – they couldn’t afford to get trapped and bogged down in a firefight on this floor.
As the HAWCs streaked towards the door, the Takavaran drew their weapons and sped to meet them. None of them bothered to call the contact in.
Lagudi was through the door first, then Sam – with Zachariah under his arm to make sure he kept up with them – followed by O’Riordan, who stopped briefly to hold the door ajar for Alex and a lagging Adira.
Adira was quick but she couldn’t match the HAWCs for speed. She was gaining on the doorway when a bullet struck her high in the shoulder. Her armour plating protected her from the penetrative force of the projectile but not its energy. She was lifted sideways and thrown into the wall, striking it with her cheek. She fell to the ground, not unconscious, but groggy and disorientated.
Alex yelled to Sam to secure their climb to the next floor up, then knelt beside Adira. He lifted his gun and fired twice as the entire Takavaran squad filled the corridor. Two bullets, two head strikes, two down, but a third man had thrown an incendiary grenade. For Alex, time slowed as he watched the dull metal canister approach through the air in a lazy somersault.
He calculated his options: he knew where the grenade was going to fall, he knew how much time he had until it detonated and also how long it would take him to get to the explosive. He could see the Takavaran from the corner of his eye, either flattening themselves against the wall of the corridor with guns drawn, or retreating from the blast radius. Alex absorbed all the information and knew he could not neutralise the grenade and still keep Adira covered from gunfire while she was stirring groggily on the corridor floor. He made his decision.
In a single lightning move, he picked up Adira, hugged her to his chest and wrapped one large arm around her head and ears. The other arm he threw over the back of his own head, which he dipped as far as it could go below the heavily shielded back and shoulders of his suit. He leaned into the wall, bracing himself and presenting only his armoured upper body to the Takavaran and the small explosive. He felt the bullets thud into the plates across his spine – each powerful blow making him grit his teeth with pain and anger. He felt a door opening within him – and a voice that sounded like his own screamed from its depths.
The blast erupted. Alex’s back and neck were smashed with thousands of pounds of percussive blast and scorched by a boiling plume of orange and white flame. He could feel the plating and specially strengthened material of his suit separate and begin to burn, but he didn’t care. He was alive and so was Adira – for now. He knew that he had only a few seconds before the smoke cleared and the Takavaran would once again have them in their sights. He could not protect Adira forever, and another blast, even closer, would finish them both.
Alex guessed the Takavaran would think there were no survivors – how could there be after the proximity of the explosion. For a few seconds he still had the element of surprise. My turn, he thought.
He pulled his weapon from its holster and took one of Adira’s from hers, then he turned to the smoke-filled tunnel. His enhanced vision picked out the images of the Iranian Special Forces soldiers clearly even though he was still invisible to them. He laid Adira down, and as he did he noticed that his arms were shaking – not from fear or from the strain but from the rage that was building in him. He needed to focus and release it – now.
The Iranians moved cautiously into the centre of the corridor, some reholstering their weapons. With the flaps of his shredded and smoking suit billowing up behind him Alex came out of the smoke like a flaming juggernaut. Two Takavaran went down with precise bullet wounds before they had even closed their mouths from the surprise, and then Alex was among them, using his guns as clubs to crush their skulls and break their bodies like kindling.
Of the ten Takavaran that had entered level two, soon only four remained. Their retreat was panicked and wildly disorganised as they scattered along the corridor. One man stood his ground and fired at Alex, but his shots had no chance of hitting the lightning-quick HAWC.
Alex pursued the fleeing men, snatching up the firing Takavaran as he went and launching him spear-like at the backs of the running soldiers. The flying body slammed into a steel door just as the last three men passed through it, leaving a small dent and a large red streak on the metal.
Alex covered the ground to the closed door in seconds, then stopped, his hand resting on the steel handle. Wait! He couldn’t follow them, even though his rage was driving him to track them down and obliterate them. He could not indulge in his bloodlust while his mission was incomplete. He struck the door with his closed fist, leaving another dent in the steel and causing a booming clang that echoed along the corridor. He inhaled deeply and exhaled through clenched teeth. His breathing and heart rate were returning to normal. He planted a spider on the doorframe and sped back to where he had left Adira.
Halfway back he almost collided with Sam.
‘No time for sightseeing, boss,’ Sam joked. ‘Next floor up is where we need to be.’
Sam was trying to keep his cool, but Alex was a vision from hell – his suit was burned and tattered, and the ceramic plating across his back was completely gone. The front of his suit was intact, but the chest and abdomen plates were scarred and pitted from shrapnel and bullet impacts.
Alex looked briefly down the corridor and Sam noticed the skin on his neck was pink and raw. His forearms were wet with blood, and his eyes glowed out of a thickly blood-streaked face. None of it appeared to be his.
‘We’ve got Ms Senesh,’ Sam went on. ‘Other than a headache and swollen cheek, she’s going to be fine. She said she wants her gun back.’
Alex laughed humourlessly. ‘Just introducing myself to our hosts, Uncle. They didn’t seem happy to see us.’
Alex reloaded his pistol and reholstered it, then stuck Adira’s Barak into his belt. He looked down at his bloody hands and wiped them roughly on his pants. Sam pulled his gun-cleaning cloth from a pocket, handed it to him and said, ‘Face.’
Alex took the cloth and wiped it over his eyes. When he opened them again, they were still dark and grim, the pupils fully dilated – Sam could tell Alex’s miraculous chemistry was fully charged.
‘All right, soldier,’ Alex said, ‘I guess we’ve announced we’re here. Time to show them some war.’
Around the bend of the corridor an explosion sounded. Alex looked over his shoulder. ‘Always liked spiders,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
Irish O’Riordan draped an arm around Adira’s shoulders as she sat forward and sipped water. With a damp cloth he wiped the blood from a graze on her cheek. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching or listening. ‘You’re okay,’ he said. ‘Took a heavy knock, but the cheekbone’s fine and I don’t think there’s any concussion. I got some painkillers.’
She shook her head and slowly got to her feet, still leaning on him for support.
O’Riordan looked over to where Rocky and Zach were checking the stairwell and whispered to her, ‘Thanks, Ms Senesh, for… ahh
… pullin’ me out down in them caves back there. Look, I don’t know what happened, but the guys said you stopped that thing from makin’ me shish-kebab -’
She put her hand up to stop him speaking. ‘You would do the same for me. We are more alike than you think, Francis Irish O’Riordan.’
Irish felt his face go hot. He just nodded.
FORTY
Ahmad Al Janaddi swore in Farsi as he looked at the security console. Warning li
ghts flashed and alarms screamed all over the complex – intruder alerts, motion sensor activity in areas that should have been empty, fires burning in level five and now level two. Too much noise, he thought. He flicked off as many alarms as he could control from his console, and gradually the clamour receded and the pulsing red lights returned to green.
The scientist stood back from the desk, narrowing his eyes as his mind worked. It would be best if the president remained unaware of what was going on until the Americans had things under control. And if they somehow managed to capture the president, then no one would dare to attack them. Al Janaddi smiled; he could actually be living in America soon. The thought made him tingle from his chest all the way down to his toes.
He was turning away from the console when his face fell. What if it isn’t the Americans? What if it’s the Israelis? They’ll kill us all.
He reached for the phone on his desk and spoke rapidly, slamming the receiver down when he had finished. He had instructed his security detail to report to him immediately when they sighted the infiltrators. If they were Americans, he would guide them right into the sphere room. If they weren’t, he’d simply resecure the facility and trap them on one of the floors where they would be taken care of by the Jamshid II security personnel or the fanatical Takavaran.
President Moshaddam was touching down in fifteen minutes and Al Janaddi anticipated they would need at least an hour to run the Judgment Event demonstration and complete the president’s tour. Allah, give me speed. He needed more time, but dared not try to stall the president. The man seemed able to look into one’s very soul and smell deception. There was nothing he could do now but pray he had made the right choice.
Al Janaddi walked slowly to a white cabinet set into the wall and pulled open one of the lower drawers. He knew that if he had made the wrong choice, he was finished. If he chose right… well, best to be prepared. Keeping his back to the room, he reached in and selected a small thin device the size of his thumb, which he had in the palm of his hand. He stood and pushed his fists into his coat pockets, then sauntered back to his console with stiff legs. Calm down, he thought. He pushed the mass storage device into the master console’s port. A dialogue box, Save Y/N, appeared on his screen. He half-turned, his right eye straining to use its peripheral vision. Satisfied that no one was watching, he turned back and clicked ‘Y’. A bar appeared on the screen and started to climb like a thermometer left out in the summer sunshine.
