Lucifer (aka the Lucifer Code) (2001)

by Cordy, Michael

  Associate Director Jones stopped his pacing. 'I wouldn't do that,' he said, with chilling calm. 'I'd open some missile silos and launch a few armed nuclear warheads.'

  Fleming nodded. 'That would do it. That would lead to war and death - a lot of death. Any of this would be enough to precipitate war on a global scale.'

  'We've got to destroy that computer,' Jones said quietly.

  Amber grimaced. 'It's not as easy as that. If we destroy it we'll lose all the data. It could take years, decades, to restore the world's "mind". Some of the data is irreplaceable and if the current chaos isn't controlled soon, the world economy and infrastructure might be so damaged we won't be able to restore any of it - ever. This is entropy on a grand scale and it must be reversed. We must rescue the data before we destroy the computer.

  'Also, Bradley will have installed electronic alarms and mines, so the instant the computer comes under attack it will trigger its commands. Any outright assault on VenTec or the computer will be counter-productive - bringing forward the last signs.'

  'Can you disable it remotely, online?' asked one of the tech agents.

  'It's too powerful and well protected. We've got to get inside VenTec and somehow physically reprogram the computer at source before Bradley becomes aware of it. That's the only way to retrieve the data and deactivate the computer's ability to trigger the final sign.'

  'How the hell are we going to get at it without him triggering the signs?' asked Jones.

  Fleming turned to Amber, who groaned when she realized what he was going to say. 'No way, Miles,' she said.

  'Do you know anyone else who can reprogram that thing?' he asked.

  Her shoulders slumped.

  'Well,' Fleming said, with a grim smile, 'it looks like it's down to us.' He turned to the FBI chief. 'I think I know a way to get Amber in. We'll need equipment.'

  And back-up. The HRT team's on standby,' said Jones.

  'HRT?' asked Fleming. Hormone replacement therapy?

  'The Bureau's hostage rescue team. They're trained at getting into and out of places like this. We've got a squad at the Anchorage field office a few hours from you.'

  'Okay,' said Fleming. 'We should also inform the army about the final signs.'

  Jones gave a humourless laugh. 'Jeez,' he said, picking up the phone again, 'with something this big, I'm going to inform a hell of a lot more folks than the military.'

  *

  Ninety-two minutes later

  Four additional video-conference screens had been set up in the FBI operations room aboard the Red Ark, positioned so that they were visible to Amber and Fleming. Three showed men in uniform.

  One was Special-Agent-in-Charge Wayne Thomas, who headed up the hostage rescue team, and was currently in Anchorage, the FBI's field office in Alaska. A whip-thin man with a long face, he wore a dark blue FBI waterproof over a black flak jacket and combats. On the screen next to him was a man in army fatigues. Lieutenant-Colonel Mark Kovac, a career soldier with the prescription buzz-cut, headed up a section of Delta Force, the elite Special Forces division of the US army. He was communicating from a classified base two hundred miles south of the Canadian border. Kovac had a gift for looking bored, even when it was obvious that he was fully alert. Amber guessed his heart-rate was lower than that of most athletes. But for all his apparent casualness, she could tell he was itching to wrest command from the FBI.

  There had already been a subtle jockeying for power: the Delta commander had intimated that this was a job for professionals, and the FBI agent had countered by emphasizing the need for 'appropriately trained' personnel. 'Surely you agree, Lieutenant-Colonel, that this mission requires the surgical precision of a scalpel rather than the brute force of a hammer.'

  The testosterone-fuelled atmosphere made Amber uncomfortable but Fleming was unaffected by it - even when Kovac challenged him about returning to VenTec. 'You're a civilian, Dr Fleming. Just tell us all you know about the layout and leave it to us.'

  Amber had turned to him in panic. She was frightened about going back up the mountain but at least she felt safe with Fleming. He exuded a physical confidence that Kovac couldn't match.

  Fleming smiled at Kovac. 'I'm coming with you.'

  'After we haul out of the Black Hawks it could still be a pretty tough climb,' Kovac said. 'We can support Dr Grant, but two of you will hold us back.'

  'Don't worry about me,' Fleming said quietly. 'I'll keep up.'

  'You climbed before?'

  A little.'

  'What level?'

  'What level are you, Lieutenant-Colonel?'

  Kovac shrugged. 'Eighteen. But I've been trained.'

  'How many levels are there?' asked Amber.

  Fleming turned to her. 'The top level's thirty.

  Rob was a twenty-seven. There are probably only a handful of people in the world over twenty-six.' He turned back to Kovac. 'But eighteen's excellent. Anybody over fifteen is very good.'

  'Like I said, I've been trained,' said Kovac modestly.

  'What level are you, Miles?' Amber asked.

  'Nineteen.'

  After that Kovac paid Fleming more respect.

  Now Amber's attention was on the third screen where yet another man in uniform was scowling and shaking his head at Associate Director Jones. He was older, with silver hair and five stars on his uniform. 'If you figure we're going to take our missiles off-line, you've figured wrong,' the General boomed. 'We've laid down contingencies since Y2K to ensure we never need go off-line and we're not going to start compromising national security now. The world's in a heap of shit, in case you hadn't noticed.'

  'But that's the point, General,' Jones said. 'If you close down all missile bases then Soames can't activate them. You'll be protecting national security'

  'Who says this psycho's not going to try to activate the Russians' missiles or someone else's? We've got to defend ourselves.'

  Associate Director Jones shook his head. 'Surely, General, if we set the example and discreetly explain the position to the world we can ensure Soames can't use anyone's ordnance to start a war. If everyone stands down, at least this risk will be taken out of the equation.'

  'It's not going to happen - we don't know everyone else will stand down,' barked the General. 'As the saying goes, there's no point being a good guy until the rest of the world becomes one too. And if war is inevitable, I'm damned if we're going to be caught with our pants down.'

  'Even if it means starting the war?' asked Riga. The General's jaw muscles clenched. 'So be it.' Fleming stood up and leant forward. 'But surely the President-'

  'Look, Dr Fleming, I appreciate your assistance in these matters, I really do. However, as chairman of the joint chiefs of staff I've just been with the President, who is somewhat occupied with a number of other matters at this time, and he agrees with me that a joint Delta force and FBI incursion into VenTec is the only viable option.

  'Lieutenant-Colonel Kovac is an excellent soldier and his men are the best we have. Fortunately they're on manoeuvres near the Canadian border and can rendezvous with the FBI in Fairbanks within a couple of hours. When they reach your location, they'll run defence, enabling you to lead Dr Grant and the FBI into the end zone and disable Soames's computer. Kovac's men will give you whatever assistance you require - but we cannot, will not, stand down our missiles. If, as we believe, the Red Pope's last two signs are war and death, then it's my duty to ensure this country is protected.'

  Amber watched Fleming try to interrupt but the General went on, 'Don't misunderstand me. I fully appreciate the gravity of this situation and the importance of your mission. It is vital you succeed, not only to salvage the world's computer records and protect the countless human lives threatened by the final signs, but also to restore our faith in God and the power of good in this world.'

  He paused for a second, the power of his steely gaze connecting with everyone in the room and all those on the other video-conference screens: the Delta commander, the FBI agents, the Jesui
t priest and the two scientists, Fleming and Amber. 'What you are all embarked on,' he said, 'is nothing less than a crusade for the salvation of the mind, the body and the soul of humanity. And if there is still a God, I pray with all my heart that He goes with you.'

  *

  Black sector.

  Six hours later

  The storm had returned stronger than before and Carvelli was glad that the helicopter returning him to VenTec had been able to land before the worst hit. He could hear the snow and wind batter the glass outside the thick tinted window's on his way to Soames's private quarters.

  The large anteroom in the black sector was an eclectic Aladdin's cave: the stripped maple floor was strewn with Afghan, Turkish and Persian rugs; exquisitely lit African masks adorned one wall, tapestries from Rajasthan and framed silk textiles from China covered another. Aromatic sandal-wood carvings from Saharanpur were displayed in a basket beside a fireplace of gleaming black jet. Corals and exotic stones lay on a glass tabletop above an up-lighter, which illuminated the jewels and projected their rainbow beauty on to the white ceiling above. A back-lit severed lion's head, with full mane, stared out from an alcove, and built into the wall beside the main door was a large aquarium containing a Technicolor kaleidoscope of darting tropical fish.

  It seemed to Carvelli that Soames, a man cursed never to venture into the sun and experience at first hand the more exotic climes of the world, had used his massive wealth to bring the sensory beauty of those lands into his private kingdom of semi-darkness.

  Carvelli shuddered. He had never been inside Soames's quarters before and, despite its treasures, he didn't care to be there now.

  He knocked on the double doors and waited for permission to enter. When he heard nothing he stole into the large living area. On one wall there was a section of carved stone, taken from an ancient pagan temple, depicting exquisitely detailed figurines engaged in every imaginable sexual act. It made Carvelli's palms sweat to look at it as he moved quietly across the parquet floor. There were no personal artefacts, no photographs of friends or family, no novels, compact discs, no bottle of spirits or cigars. Except for a glass-fronted cooler of Coke cans in one corner there was no indication that Bradley Soames indulged in any of life's trivial pleasures. Indeed, even with the sensual trophies on show, the place reminded Carvelli of a museum devoid of joy.

  When Carvelli heard the voice at the other end of the room he didn't recognize it at first. Then he realized it was Soames - and that he was pleading. 'But I've done all you asked,' Carvelli heard him say. 'I brought darkness and unrest and now I've brought famine. Can't I just move the final signs forward a few hours? What difference can it make after waiting so long?'

  Carvelli froze, heart in his mouth.

  'Please let me do this,' Soames wheedled. 'It's too dangerous to wait - I can sense it. Grant and Fleming know about Mother Lucifer. The longer I wait the more I feel certain they'll find a way to sabotage everything.'

  Terrified but compelled to hear more, Carvelli moved closer to the ebony door at the end. It stood ajar, and as he inched towards it he could see that the room beyond was in darkness.

  Soames spoke again, angrier now. 'Why's it so important to stick to the schedule? It's so close now, and the effect will be the same. It's only right that you let me finish it now. I've done everything you wanted. I'm tired. I want this over. I demand it.'

  There was a crack, like a whip, then a strangulated sob.

  Carvelli moved closer, and in the shaft of light from the door he saw that the room was bare except for a simple bed. Soames was kneeling at its foot, back to the door. He was naked, his skin mottled and pitted with scars from the numerous operations he had endured. And he was alone.

  'I demand it,' he said again. 'I deserve it. You must let me bring forward the last signs. It's only fair after I've performed this great service for you.'

  He lifted a small whip high into the air with his right hand and began to strike at his shoulders, all the time crying and asking forgiveness for his defiance. 'Forgive me for my arrogance and my impatience. I wish only to serve you and fulfil my purpose.'

  Eventually he laid the bloodied whip on the floor and bent forward over the bed. He seemed calmer. Then, to Carvelli's astonishment, he clasped his hands together, lowered his head and began to pray: 'Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name . . .'

  Carvelli stood in the doorway, frozen with shock, disbelief. He was unable to reconcile what Soames had revealed to him earlier with what he was witnessing now: a recitation of the only prayer in the Bible attributed to Jesus Christ. But before he could make sense of it, Soames lowered his hands and raised his head. Without turning, he said, 'Frank, you've brought my insurance with you?'

  'Y-y-yes,' Carvelli stammered. 'In the white sector.'

  'Well done.'

  'You want to see him?'

  Soames nodded. 'I'll be along shortly' he said. Then he turned towards Carvelli, moving his profile into the beam of light from the half-open door. Carvelli looked away, covering his eyes with his hand, filled with the irrational certainty that if he saw Soames's face he would die.

  *

  The Brooks mountain range.

  Alaska

  The storm buffeted the Black Hawk helicopter so hard its whole frame shook and creaked. Through the snow-lashed glass, Fleming could see fork lightning crack open the darkness, revealing flashes of white mountain peaks rising above him, like the cresting waves of a storm-tossed sea. If, as the General had hoped, there was a God, then as far as Fleming could see He wasn't with them on this mission.

  Over the last few hours, he and Amber had remained in the rangers' cabin, becoming increasingly apprehensive as the weather deteriorated. Twice he had tried to contact his parents in England but there had been no reply, so he and Amber had used the time to eat and get some sleep while they waited for the helicopters. When they arrived, the weather was a whiteout and the pilots hadn't dared land. Instead Amber and he had been winched aboard.

  'Buckle up and hold tight,' the pilot said grimly, as the helicopter rose higher. 'We're flying blind and this is only going to get worse.'

  Fleming glanced around the cabin. Most of his fellow passengers looked equally grim. In addition to the pilot, there were four Delta Force operators, or D-boys, including Kovac, and two FBI tech agents who were assigned to assist Amber. She sat beside Fleming, looking small and vulnerable among the men in full combat gear.

  The D-boys wore Arctic combat suits, white with a ghosted camouflage pattern. Each was weighed down with a backpack, grenades and a black oily CAR-15 pump-action shotgun or M-60 machine gun. The G-men wore the black Ninja suits favoured by the FBI hostage rescue team and carried more modest - Fleming thought more appropriate - rifles.

  Somewhere out in the swirling darkness a second helicopter was carrying another four FBI HRT agents, including Special-Agent-in-Charge Wayne Thomas, and a further four Delta Force operators. A third back-up helicopter with another team was on standby just north of Fairbanks.

  The plan was simple: fly low to avoid detection-maintaining radio silence as long as possible - to the unfinished refinery on the lower peak behind VenTec. Here the helicopters would hover as close to the ground as possible, allowing them to abseil-or, as the D-boys called it, fast-rope - on to the mountain. After regrouping at the refinery, Fleming would lead them to the pipe and retrace the steps he and Amber had taken when escaping. They planned to reach the borehole under the red sector and infiltrate Soames's computer from beneath. The first part, returning to the refinery, was supposed to have been straightforward. But the storm had changed that. Because the global positioning system relied on data that had been lost with the Red Pope's second sign, the pilot was forced to navigate in the old-fashioned way using maps and eyesight. But eyesight didn't work in a whiteout like this. In these conditions it was like speeding blindfold at Mach 3 through Manhattan, and any other mission would have been aborted. But if they didn't stop Soames's computer before t
he final signs were triggered, it would be too late.

  Kovac tried to make light of it. 'The conditions are fine,' he said. 'We've got excellent cover and the element of surprise.'

  Suddenly the chopper swerved to the left, and in the lightning Fleming saw the second helicopter appear on their right. Shit, he thought. They can't even see each other in this mess. Amber was staring at him - she had seen the near-miss too.

  'How will we see the landing area in this storm?' she asked Kovac.

  He turned to her, still appearing vaguely bored. 'You probably won't even see it,' he drawled, as if the landing area was some kind of need-to-know secret to which she wasn't privy, 'but don't worry about it.'