Lucifer (aka the Lucifer Code) (2001)

by Cordy, Michael

  Fleming and Amber exchanged looks. 'You ever fast-roped before, Dr Grant?' one of the Delta Force soldiers asked her. She shook her head. 'It's okay. I'm taking her down on my rope,' said Fleming.

  'You sure you're happy to do that?' Kovac asked. 'She's mission critical. We don't want her damaged. Perhaps one of us should do it.'

  'Thanks for your concern,' said Amber hurriedly, 'but I'm sure I'll be fine with Miles.'

  Kovac looked hard at Fleming, then shrugged.

  'Getting close,' said the pilot, in the calm, reassuring tone that all pilots acquire, but Fleming heard the underlying strain when he told them to 'prepare the ropes and get ready'. The chopper was rocking in the air, taking all the pilot's physical strength to control it.

  Three bolts of lightning lit the sky, turning the black night a blue-white more blinding than the darkness. Then a garbled message came to them over the radio.

  'Hit . . . lightning . . electric's gone . . . going down . . . Black Hawk down. Black Hawk down . . .'

  Silence.

  Fleming peered out of the window to his right. In the crackling, electrified air he could see the second helicopter reeling as it tried to steady itself. There was a black charred gash above the cabin beneath the main rotors, which appeared to stutter in the turbulent air. Then the chopper lurched forward and spiralled downwards like a leaf in autumn.

  Fleming's heart dropped with the helicopter. He watched it disappear into the whiteout. The brightness of the subsequent fireball briefly illuminated the dark abyss into which the Black Hawk had plummeted.

  In the ensuing silence no one in the cabin met anyone else's eye. They needed to absorb what had happened in their own way, each trying to fend off the paralysing fear that it might happen to them.

  'Hatches open. We're going in,' said the pilot, pointing down into the churning snow, where Fleming could make out the two empty steel frames designed to house the refinery's vast drum-shaped storage tanks. 'Throw the ropes.'

  The helicopter doors slid open and freezing air blasted through the cabin. Kovac kicked out the ropes - four on each side.

  'I'll try and hold it steady,' the pilot said, 'but I can't guarantee shit in this.'

  Kovac was shouting for his men and the FBI agents to go down in the agreed order: 'Two by two. Go! Go! Go!'

  In turn each man gripped a rope, backed out of the hatch and jumped, sliding down the swaying ropes, towards the swirling snow and what they hoped was the ground.

  Fleming reached for Amber and waited his turn. He could feel her trembling when he wrapped his arms round her and placed his hands on the rope above hers.

  'Don't worry, I've got you,' he whispered, harnessing his suit to hers, using his body to block her view of the swirling storm outside as he backed out of the hatch and into the void.

  Amber couldn't remember feeling more physically frightened. Her stomach lurched and her heart beat so fast she thought she might faint. The heavy rope swayed like cotton in the gale-force winds and her gloved hands burned with friction. The rope and the helicopter were swinging so much that she might as well have been attached to a pendulum. But whenever she lost control she could feel Fleming's body close in, gripping her to him, checking her speed.

  The descent seemed to take for ever: everything happened in slow motion. Looking down, she had no idea where the ground was in the swirling snow. Then to her left there was a clear gap and for an instant she saw what was below. If she had been scared before she was terrified now.

  The helicopter had been pushed out of position by the storm and was hovering over the edge of the mountain. Below the opposite rope on the other side of the helicopter there was nothing. She screamed a warning at the Delta Force operator on the rope as he reached the end of his descent, but the wind was so fierce she could barely hear her own voice. Helpless, she watched him abseil to the base of the rope then release his grip. He seemed to hang for a second in the air as if kept buoyant by the force of the storm. Then he slipped silently into the darkness. To her right another man did the same. Neither let out a cry.

  She began to swing even more violently and realized Fleming was purposely shifting his balance as they neared the end of their rope. He was swinging into the mountain.

  He shouted in her ear, 'Bend your knees and roll.'

  Seconds later she felt the impact as she hit the ground on her feet and crumpled into a ball. Fleming rolled with her in the snow. Before she could get her breath Fleming was pulling her to her feet. 'You okay?' she heard him ask in her helmet speaker.

  She nodded once, then doubled over in pain.

  'What's wrong?'

  'Nothing,' she gasped.

  Kovac was on them, shepherding them away from the edge of the mountain, towards the refinery. 'You hurt?'

  She grimaced. 'Just winded.'

  'Walk it off,' he said. 'There ain't much time.'

  Nearing the refinery area, there was more protection from the storm. 'How many of us are left?' Fleming asked.

  'Five who are fit to go on,' said Kovac. His voice was even. 'We lost two off the edge and one broke his leg.'

  Ahead, Amber could see two figures standing in the swirling snow; one was bending over a prostrate man whose left leg was bent back on itself. She was relieved that one fit man was in the black FBI uniform of the tech agents. At least she and Fleming weren't the only technically qualified members of the team.

  Fleming was trying to get his bearings. 'There'll be shelter in the pipe. We need to get your injured man out of the storm. What do you want to do about him?'

  Kovac didn't hesitate. 'We'll get him comfortable and warm, then leave him with a radio. If we're not back for him in six hours he can break radio silence and call the back-up helicopter. By then we'll have either failed or succeeded. It may be immaterial anyway' He moved towards his colleague.

  The weather was worsening. Their team was depleted. However Amber looked at it, the omens weren't good. It was almost as if God - or whoever was really in charge - didn't want Soames stopped.

  Fleming turned to her. 'Don't worry, Amber, our luck must change soon. It can't get any worse.'

  But it could.

  Minutes later he shouted, T can't find the pipe. The snow's covered it. I think it's over there but we've got to dig for it.'

  'Okay' said Kovac, inured to changing plans and shifting fortunes.

  'Okay,' agreed Amber. But she didn't feel okay. All she could think about was how everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. She had escaped intending to call the cavalry, not realizing that she and Fleming were the cavalry.

  She thought of her godfather waiting on the Red Ark. 'I'll pray for you until you return victorious,' he had promised, confident that they would succeed in their mission because it was 'God's will'.

  Gritting her teeth, Amber followed Fleming's footsteps in the snow. 'Papa Pete, I hope to God you haven't been praying until now,' she muttered, under her breath, 'because if this is what happens after you've been praying, then we're in deep shit.'

  *

  The white sector

  Carvelli rubbed his clammy palms together, trying to dispel the disturbing image of Soames flagellating himself.

  Soames was now fully dressed, standing in one of the deserted recreation rooms in the white sector, his wolves sitting patiently at either side of him. Bending over, he peered through the etched-glass door into the next room. He had already put through an excited call to Tripp and Bukowski in the red sector to check on the status of his computer, and in the last few minutes he'd twice asked Carvelli the time. With each update, he said, 'Almost there, almost there,' repeating the two words like a mantra.

  As he looked through the glass he grinned. 'Well done, Frank,' he said. 'Was it difficult, getting hold of my insurance policy?'

  Carvelli was unsure what to say. He wanted Soames's approval but he was frightened of deceiving him in case he was punished. If he was honest, he hadn't done much, except wait for the men to pick up the 'package' fr
om school then spend the flight reassuring the kid that he was on a surprise trip to see his uncle. 'He's pretty together, if that's what you mean.'

  'Not even a little scared?'

  'He misses his grandma and grandpa and I'm not sure he believes my surprise-trip story. But he's a tough one.'

  Soames gestured Carvelli over. 'Look what he's doing.'

  Carvelli moved closer to the window, keeping as far from the wolves as possible. He already knew what the boy was doing: he had been playing with him for the last half hour.

  'Look at him piling up my old bricks,' Soames said, with a distant smile. 'He's so meticulous with each tower, making sure every brick is perfectly placed.' Soames pushed open the door. 'I must talk to him.'

  The boy was standing in the middle of the large room on a parquet floor strewn with battered old-fashioned toys - Lego, GI Joe and countless wooden bricks, which were now in towers, each almost four feet high. When he heard the door opening the boy turned.

  'Hello, Jake,' said Soames. 'Great towers.'

  'Where's Uncle Milo?' the child demanded. He examined Soames's scarred skin with frank scrutiny. 'What's wrong with your face?'

  Soames stepped closer to him, bent down and brought his face to within inches of Jake's. 'I don't like sunlight,' Soames said, 'and sunlight doesn't like me. What's wrong with your legs?'

  Jake didn't flinch. 'They're okay.'

  'But they're not your legs, are they?' Soames sneered.

  Jake kept his gaze steady. 'Yes, they are. Uncle Milo gave them to me.'

  Soames straightened up and moved towards one of the towers. 'I used to love building towers as high as I could then knocking them over. Why don't you knock this one over first?'

  'No, thank you,' Jake said quietly. His posture had stiffened and Carvelli could tell he was scared, but he kept his head up and looked straight ahead.

  'Go on, be as rough as you like, throw the bricks around the room. No one's going to tell you off,' urged Soames. The wolves moved closer and sat, panting, a few feet behind Jake. 'Try the other tower first, if you like.'

  Jake shook his head.

  'Or both together perhaps.'

  Still Jake didn't move.

  'I think you should do it,' Soames said, his voice colder. The wolves moved closer, until they were almost breathing down the back of Jake's neck. The child's knees were shaking and his lip trembled, but he didn't move. Carvelli knew what Soames and the wolves were capable of, and he wanted Jake to give in and knock down the towers, but part of him cheered on the boy's defiance. He wished he had the same courage.

  Soames bent down and again pushed his face close to the boy's - even if Jake had wanted to step back, the growling wolves barred his way. Soames was angry now: his scarred lips peeled back from his incongruously perfect white teeth in a snarl. 'Knock down the fucking tower.'

  The boy's whole body was trembling, his face ashen, but he stood his ground.

  'You think your uncle's here,' Soames taunted. 'Don't you, Jake?'

  The boy looked accusingly at Carvelli: his eyes were bright with tears but not one leaked on to his cheek. Carvelli felt himself shrivel inside. 'No, I don't,' the boy said. 'But when Milo comes to get me he'll-'

  'He'll what? roared Soames. 'If Miles comes, he'll die, like your father and your whore mother died, and they'll meet up in Hell, like everyone's going to meet up in fucking Hell, including you!'

  Jake scrunched up his face and put his hands over his ears.

  Soames's face was red now - Carvelli had never seen him so angry. The wolves were panting, waiting for the order to attack. The back of Jake's jacket and trouser legs were flecked with their spittle. 'Your uncle Milo's probably already dead!' Soames screamed. 'Soon your grandparents will be dead too and then - and then-' Soames let out a roar of rage and pushed over the towers. Then he stormed out of the door, followed by his wolves, leaving Carvelli standing alone with Jake.

  Filled with awe, Carvelli moved to the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder. 'They've gone.'

  With his fingers pushed into his ears, the child shook his shoulder, trying to dislodge Carvelli's hand.

  A wave of shame swept over Carvelli. removed his hand and left the room.

  It was only then, when he knew he was alone, that Jake collapsed on the ground and began to cry.

  *

  Four hours later

  'There it is,' said Fleming, squinting at the spiralling light show ahead. As the rotating shards of brightness pierced the darkness he could see the borehole.

  'God, it's hot,' said the FBI tech agent, a tall black guy called Howie.

  'And bright,' said Kovac. 'Better put on your masks.'

  After donning his, Fleming looked up at the vast rotating fan, blowing hot air out of the red sector above. The light beyond it was so bright that even with his mask Fleming couldn't discern anything through the rotating blades except a blinding radiance. 'Wait,' he said. 'The fan's slowing.'

  'It's on a thermostat,' said Amber. 'Its speed's constantly changing. There are other more sensitive temperature stabilizers in the red sector. The fan moves hot air away from the sphere. Depending on the ambient air temperature it accelerates or slows to a virtual stop.'

  'So if we wait for it to stop we can get through?' said Fleming.

  Amber nodded.

  'How will we know when it's going to speed up again?' asked the second Delta Force operator, a thickset blond man with blue eyes.

  'We won't - except when it starts going faster,' Amber replied.

  'The important thing at this stage,' said Fleming, 'is to get Amber and Howie to the computer so they can do what they need to do while we run defence.'

  I'll go through first,' said Kovac. 'I'll check out any problems and recon the other side.' He gestured to the other D-boy. 'You take up the rear, Olsen.'

  Fleming watched Kovac dash across the gantry and scale the steel inspection ladder welded to the side of the borehole. At the top he waited just beneath the slowing blades. Now that the fan was virtually stationary Fleming could see that it had only four blades and that a man should be able to slide through the gaps between them.

  Kovac extended his right arm to test the force of one of the blades coming to rest. Suddenly there was a click and the blades speeded up. Not too fast, but fast enough to give Kovac and those watching a shock.

  'I'm not sure the blades actually stop,' Fleming heard Kovac say in his helmet speaker. 'I'll try while they're still moving.'

  Then, before Fleming could counsel him to wait, the Delta Force leader lunged for one of the blades and gripped it. As the blade rotated above the pit, Kovac shinned up on to its curved surface and mounted it then vanished into the brightness beyond. Fleming felt dizzy.

  'I'm through,' said Kovac casually. 'Looking good. There's a maintenance ledge to one side and the ladder carries on up. Who's next?'

  They all looked at each other then up at the fan, which was still rotating a few clicks faster than looked safe. Fleming stepped forward and ran across the gantry. He climbed the ladder and waited, as Kovac had, just below the fan. Up close, even at this speed, the blades still seemed to be moving too fast. He waited, gathering his courage, feeling like a pedestrian trying to cross a Formula One racetrack. The blades slowed, there was a click and the fan stopped.

  Two hands appeared through one of the gaps above him. 'Come on, I'll pull you through.'

  He reached up and felt Kovac's powerful hands take his arms and lift him through the fan.

  Half-way up, when the blades were level with his groin, he heard another click and the blades moved. His heart almost stopped and his first instinct was to let go, but the fan barely moved, just pushed him closer to the ledge where Kovac was standing.

  There, Fleming looked around him. Soames's sphere of light was suspended within two intersecting hoops no more than ten feet above him. The fireball seemed brighter and more volatile than the last time he had seen it and, even with his eye protection, he had to squint. To his right w
as a ladder that ran up the side of the borehole to a doorway twenty feet above, which led into the control room and the laboratories that encircled the globe of light. He could just make out the tinted viewing window's and wondered if the doorway accessed the laboratory where he, Bukowski and Tripp had developed the upgraded NeuroTranslator for Soames.

  'Come on,' Kovac whispered into his microphone.

  Amber was next and since the fan remained static her light frame was easy to pull through the gaps. Special Agent Howie followed.

  Only one more to come: the second Delta Force operator.