Lucifer (aka the Lucifer Code) (2001)

by Cordy, Michael

  He hadn't been able do it before when he was relatively fresh, but now he had nothing to lose. He gritted his teeth, tensed his biceps and tried to raise his body. He strained as hard as he could but barely lifted himself an inch. Then he felt the hands around his wrists grip him tighter, as though supporting him.

  He pulled with every vestige of strength he had left and raised his right leg as high as he could. To his surprise his foot came to rest on the lip of the pipe. A burst of energy surged through him. He brought his other foot on to the lip, then reached across for the handholds provided by the rivets.

  Pausing momentarily for breath, terrified that if he stopped for long his new-found energy might leak away, he clambered up the holds supplied by the rivets using his boots, crampons and ice picks for purchase, lifting his and Amber's weight higher up the pipe.

  With each inch gained his strength seemed to grow, until he found himself back in the horizontal section of pipe and could hear Amber scrabbling over the lip, gaining her own purchase on the metal. When the rope went slack and they were safe, his strength evaporated and he rolled on to his back. Seconds later Amber was bending over him, her eyes wide with concern and something else: something he couldn't place.

  'How did you do that?' she asked.

  He was too breathless to speak.

  'That was impossible.'

  'Strange things happen in the mountains,' he rasped.

  She laughed at that and despite Fleming's exhaustion, a core of hope glowed within him.

  He pulled himself to his feet and took Amber's arm. 'We can't hang about here. We need to get to the refinery and find our way down to the rangers' station.'

  After the initial elation had subsided, Amber didn't care how Fleming had saved them. The fact that he had was enough.

  Retracing their steps to the fork, they headed in what they hoped was the direction of the refinery. As they walked on in the darkness, it dawned on her that although he knew her medical past and most of the significant events in her life, she knew little about him, but before she could question him he said, 'It's pretty clear to me that what we heard and saw was no hoax. I've seen the technology -hell, I developed some of it - and one of the signs that Accosta's soul predicted has already manifested itself. But you aren't convinced, are you?'

  'I had another dream,' she said, 'but I know what you think of my dreams . . .'

  Fleming grinned. 'I deserved that. But that was then and this is now. I've become a lot more open-minded. Tell me about your dream - or whatever it was.'

  'Like you, I believe the Red Pope's announcement wasn't a hoax, but I also think it wasn't the only truth or all the truth.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I think... I know I've seen what happens after death. I know where my sister's gone because she showed me. I can't go into specifics because what I saw was indescribable -but she's gone to a good place. Not only did I see it, l felt it. It's a place beyond suffering. A safe, sunlit plane where the shadow of pain can't reach. The nearest I can get to describing it is as a state of bliss.'

  Fleming was staring at her, his face luminous with fresh hope. She knew he was thinking of his brother and wanted to reassure him, as Ariel had reassured her. 'All I know,' she said softly, 'is that what I saw wasn't the hopeless, damned place the Red Pope described.'

  'I want to believe you,' he said.

  She smiled. 'Well, believe me. All you need is faith.'

  Fleming gave a noncommittal shrug. 'What I can't figure out is why Bradley revels in the Red Pope's announcement. It's like he wanted it, hoped for it.'

  Amber struggled to bring into focus a bunch of unformed thoughts that swirled in the back of her mind. 'I know,' she said. 'That worries me too. And that's why we've got to get word out because I've a scary feeling he's enjoying this.'

  A gust of cold wind blew across them and Fleming's arm shot out to stop her walking any further forward. 'This must be the end of the pipe.' He pointed ahead and Amber could see moonlight and stars. 'The storm seems to have passed. Look, you can see what's left of the refinery out there.'

  She was relieved to see that the pipe led out on to level ground, although it was thick with snow and the lower section of the exit was submerged in a drift. Beyond it, looming in the moonlight, she could make out the framework of various unfinished structures, including two vast cylindrical cages, designed to house oil-storage tanks. 'It's so cold out there,' she said. 'Why don't we stay in here and get some rest before heading off in the morning? We've still got time before the next signs appear.' She glanced hopefully at Fleming.

  'Okay,' he said. 'We can eat some of our rations from the bag and get some sleep. There's some warmth in here but it's going to get pretty cold once we stop moving and the energy in our kinetic boots runs out. We'll be okay if we huddle up close, though.'

  She kept her voice deadpan. 'I've experienced worse horrors recently'

  *

  Atlantic Ocean

  Further south, day had dawned, and Carvelli sat wide awake in the only occupied passenger seat of Soames's private jet as it sped to London. He felt as if he would never sleep again. He had only one aim: to fulfil his mission.

  He dismissed any notion of defying Soames or running away. There was nowhere he could run to-in this life or the next. Just thinking about Soames and what he'd told him made Carvelli break out in a sweat. His once immaculate appearance was deteriorating: his skin was pale and blotchy, his hair dishevelled and his black clothing rumpled.

  The phone rang in the armrest of his leather seat, making him jump. He picked it up. 'Yes?'

  'I was told to ring this number,' said a mild Scottish accent. 'I understand you're to collect a package and it isn't to be harmed.'

  Carvelli had never met the man before but he had seen a picture of him and recognized the voice. Soames and Knight had used him in the past-on the Soul Project. God, that seems so long ago now, he thought. 'That's right. And I'm supposed to bring the - the -package safely back to America today. As soon as possible.'

  'No problem,' said the voice. 'We'll be waiting at Heathrow for you. We've done a recce and we know where it is. Judging from its size and condition, it'll be easy to handle.' A laugh. 'Should be child's play'

  Carvelli didn't feel like laughing as he hung up. He felt sick.

  The sound of wolves howling woke Fleming before the light did. Ignoring the pain in his muscles, he shook Amber awake.

  She sat upright immediately. 'What was that?' She blinked, 'Where are they?'

  'Don't know, but we've got to get a move on.' He looked out of the pipe at the incongruous shapes of the refinery construction site. The sun was low and bathed the scene in a weak, flat light. In a few weeks it would disappear for the winter. A thick crust of fresh snow lay everywhere but the wind wasn't as strong as it had been last night and the sky was relatively clear.

  Amber stood up then collapsed again, holding her right leg. 'Shit.'

  He grabbed it, and could feel straight away the knotted thigh muscles through her suit. Silently he kneaded them, despite her cries of protest, and only let go when he was satisfied the muscle was adequately loosened.

  She scowled as she tested her leg.

  'Sorry, but at least you can walk now,' he said.

  And it'll hurt a lot more if the wolves get us.'

  Despite the thick snow they made good progress, and although they heard wolves they didn't see any as they passed through the refinery. It was eerily still and silent, the structures towering above them like snow-covered tombstones.

  After three hours, they stopped for a break, ate chocolate from the rucksack and melted some snow in the portable stove to make coffee. For a few glorious moments the sun came out and Fleming even dared to forget their circumstances.

  Then they heard the wolves again. Closer.

  Perhaps it was because they were nearing the bottom of the descent, or perhaps because he was enjoying being out there with Amber, but when he swung the rucksack back on to his shoulder
he took his next step without probing the ground ahead. He plummeted through the snow, through a gap in the ledge, dragging Amber and the overhang of fresh snow with him. Then he was careening blindly down the mountain, cursing his stupidity, bracing himself for impact with rocks. The rucksack was pulled off him, and twice he felt Amber's boots in his back. Curling into a ball, he lost track of how long they fell but it seemed interminable. When he stopped he was submerged, unsure which way was up. He pulled the rope and was encouraged to feel Amber tug the other end.

  He straightened from the foetal position and allowed a dribble of spit to fall from his mouth -Rob had taught him to use the flow of saliva to test the direction of gravity. Now he knew which way was up and began to dig. Soon he could see watery sunlight filtering through the translucent snow above.

  Within seconds his head was exposed and he was looking at a copse of firs, then Amber popped up beside him, gasping for breath. He clambered out of the snow and pulled her after him. Then he brushed himself down, concerned about the missing rucksack and the palm-top. But just as he thought of going back to look for them, Amber pointed down the valley. 'Look.' Following the direction of her finger, he saw a collection of huts nestling in the snow. 'Is that it?' she asked.

  He looked around him, at the vast, mountainous, uninhabited, snow-covered expanse, and had to smile at the question. 'Yep,' he said. 'I guess it is.'

  *

  Rangers' station. National Wildlife Refuge Reserve

  As Virginia Knight had told them, the rangers' station was deserted. A large sign by the snow-covered main cabin explained that from mid-October to late March the site was manned on a temporary basis. It consisted of three cabins and a series of computer-controlled concrete bins that released animal feed, depending on temperature and elapsed time, throughout the winter. When the human population moved out the animals moved in. The place was crawling with well-fed wolves and the sky was dotted with high-flying birds of prey.

  Amber marvelled at the mountain behind her. She could see the plateau at the top but no sign of the refinery or the peak of the higher mountain next to it. It disappeared into the clouds so there was no way of knowing if VenTec was ever visible from here.

  Fleming went to the main cabin, which had a laser communication antenna and satellite dish on the roof, and was about to break open the door when Amber pointed at a wooden box to the right of the door. A small neat sign informed them that:

  All travelers are welcome to take shelter in this cabin and use the facilities within. All we ask is that you leave it as you found it, replenish all supplies and keep animals out. Any donations can be left in the metal tin and visitors are requested to complete the guest book. Lock up when you leave and place the key in this box.

  Thank you for your interest in the wildlife of our beautiful state.

  *

  John Mahoney. Head Ranger

  National Wildlife Refuge Reserve. Arctic region. Alaska.

  Amber fished out the keys and opened the door. Inside, the cabin was surprisingly sophisticated, well insulated and furnished, with all the technical equipment they could wish for. There was an optical computer in the corner, with its own monitor, and a video-conference plasma screen beside a matt black communication unit, complete with video-link camera, satellite phone, keyboard and fax. After her initial surprise, Amber realized that the equipment was a necessity in this isolated place. 'Good kit,' she said, powering up the Lucifer optical computer.

  Fleming picked up the satellite phone. 'Works too. Place must have its own generator.'

  Amber gave a nod of satisfaction when she saw the Optinet portal appear.

  Fleming dialled a number on the phone keypad. 'Can you put me through to the FBI? I don't know.

  Headquarters? Washington's fine.' There was a pause, then Amber heard him say, 'Hi, I need to speak to the guy heading up the inquiry into the Red Pope investigation. Sure. I understand you're busy with all that's going on. Just get a message to him. I assure you he'll want to talk to us. Tell him Amber Grant and Miles Fleming need to contact him. I was the guy who helped create some of the equipment used by the Red Pope for his announcement. Tell him we've got information. Yeah. Can you get him to call me . . . Hello? What? Sure, I'll hold.'

  Within four minutes a video-link had been established with Associate Director Morgan Jones's temporary command centre aboard the Red Ark. The definition was excellent and on the plasma screen above the communication console Amber could see the cavernous ballroom. In the background technical agents in shirtsleeves were sitting at trestle tables poring over computer screens. Styrofoam coffee cups littered every available surface while large video screens showed news coverage from around the world. In the foreground a lean black man, Associate Director Morgan Jones, in a dark blue suit, white shirt and shoulder holster, paced around a conference table at which three other men were sitting.

  'Could you both move closer to your vidcam. I need to verify your IDs,' Jones said.

  Amber and Fleming took off their helmets, moved closer to the console and peered into the camera lens. Amber was suddenly self-conscious about her shaven hair: it was growing back and her head was covered in a downy fuzz, but she guessed that she didn't closely resemble any reference shot Jones had on his screen. Nevertheless, he seemed satisfied, and was either too gallant or preoccupied to comment.

  'We've been looking everywhere for you guys. Dr Grant, you were reported missing some time ago and the fellow who reported it has been working with us on this Red Pope mess.' He turned and gestured behind him to a figure in black, threading its way through the rows of tech agents, towards the conference table. Amber smiled when she recognized her godfather. 'Father Riga was at the service as one of the senior members of the Catholic Church invited to witness the event. He and other religious leaders have been trying to help us make sense of what happened.'

  'Amber, thank God,' Papa Pete said, as he reached the table. 'Dr Fleming. Where are you now? After you came to visit me, we had you followed - for your own protection,' he added hurriedly, 'but we lost contact with you in San Francisco.'

  Fleming frowned. 'You suspected something when I saw you in Rome?'

  Riga sat down and folded his arms across his chest. He looked unrepentant. 'Yeah, but I wasn't sure what. The Jesuits had monitored the Red Pope's services for some time and we figured he was planning something big. When you contacted me about Amber's soul wavelength, I made some connections.'

  And we've been trying discreetly to find Amber Grant ever since,' added Jones. 'But after the Red Pope's Day of the Soul Truth we've had our hands full trying to control the panic. Tell us where you are and what you know about the event.'

  Amber and Fleming exchanged a look. Between them they explained how they had escaped to the rangers' cabin, then filled in the details of the last week. Amber recounted her abduction and the experiments. Fleming talked about how he had been duped by Soames into developing a more advanced NeuroTranslator compatible with Soames's soul-capture technology. He explained how Soames had already proved the existence of the human soul, making it visible at the moment of death and capturing its signature on a photon-detector screen, but needed Amber to find the locking frequency to trace the departing soul and his NeuroTranslator to communicate with it.

  'Basically, between us, Amber and I gave him the missing pieces of the jigsaw to make the Day of the Soul Truth possible.'

  'So it was genuine, then?' asked one of the FBI technical agents. He had a portable optical computer in front of him. 'We couldn't find any sign of a hoax but I kind of hoped you were going to explain how they'd rigged it.'

  'It might have been genuine,' Father Peter interjected. 'Our own scientists in Rome concede that. But it was still a trick of sorts.'

  Fleming sighed. Amber could almost hear him thinking, Why are priests always so bloody sure of everything? 'I wish I could tell you it wasn't true,' he said. 'I really do. But the technology is genuine.

  That was the Red Pope's soul we heard,
I'm sure of it.'

  'So there really is no God and we've got to prepare for the other signs?' the associate director asked baldly. His lean dark face looked grey.

  'Not necessarily,' Amber said, making a sudden connection.

  Fleming turned to her and smiled. Then he looked back at the vidcam. 'She had a dream.'

  'No,' she said, reaching for the computer beside her. 'It's more than that.'

  It was something to do with the way in which Soames had reacted to the Red Pope's revelation . . . not just accepting it, but welcoming it - almost expecting it. What had he said to Virginia Knight when they were escaping?