“Why did they need an underground complex, Mr. Carradine?” Michael asked.
“The fact was, the new Project Rainbow didn’t confine itself to psychological research, although it was still using exceptionally powerful high-frequency electromagnetic fields. The team was conducting experiments in teleportation, parallel dimensions, and time travel.”
There was absolute silence in the office for a moment. Then: “Teleportation?” Michael asked incredulously.
Opal, who was staring at Mr. Carradine, whispered, “Time travel?”
“They’re interconnected,” said Opal’s father soberly. “As I understand the science, high-frequency electromagnetic fields can be used to bend space-time. Once you bend space-time, you can step to a distant location instantly. Or a distant time.”
“And they’re doing this at Montauk?” Michael asked.
Mr. Carradine gave a small, dry laugh. “Not anymore,” he said. “They started to run into problems around 1988. The project was super secret, as you might imagine, but there were signs that the cover might be blown. This was during the Cold War—the Berlin Wall hadn’t come down, and the Soviet Union was still intact. There was a dissident named Enrico Chekov who defected to America and showed the CIA Russian satellite photos of a strange phenomenon. Fortunately the Russians didn’t know what it was, but our people did: it was a huge bubble in space-time centered on the Montauk site. Chekov sold his copies of the photographs to a reporter from the New York Times, and we had to steal them back.”
We? Opal thought. Had Mr. Carradine been personally involved? He was with the CIA, so he might well have been. Aloud she said, “But the reporter saw them. Wouldn’t he want to investigate further?”
“We shot him,” Carradine said coolly. They stared at him, wondering if he was joking.
After a moment, Danny asked, “What about Chekov?”
“Him too,” Carradine said. He straightened his jacket. “We kept the lid on that one, but it was a close call, and shortly afterward there was a major accident that killed seven of our best scientists and nearly eighty military personnel.”
“What happened?” Danny asked.
“That information is on a need-to-know basis. You don’t need to know.”
Danny shrugged. “Fine.”
“After the accident, Project Rainbow was closed down for the second time—this time by presidential order. It was one of the last things Ronald Reagan did before he left office. Except . . .” He pursed his lips. “And this is the part that goes beyond top secret, so please bear in mind it is not to be discussed with anyone outside this room, whatever their security clearance. The scientists found they couldn’t close down the space-time distortion they’d created.”
“I don’t understand,” Michael said.
Opal’s father broke in again. “They created a rift in space-time using ultrahigh-powered magnetic fields. They assumed that when they shut the power down, the rift would disappear. But it didn’t. Apparently when you tear space-time, it stays torn.”
“You mean there’s a time tunnel at Montauk?” Fuchsia asked. She looked delighted.
Mr. Carradine shrugged. “Actually tunnel gives the wrong idea. A tunnel goes in a straight line from one place to another. This is a rift in space-time. While we had the magnets on, we could control where it went. Now that they’re off, it could lead anywhere.”
“Or anywhen,” Fuchsia added.
“Or anywhen,” Carradine confirmed.
“What did they do about the presidential order?” Danny asked.
“They set up a very sophisticated alarm system that would trigger if the rift was activated. From the other side, so to speak. Very unlikely, of course, since you need high-tech equipment, but nobody wanted to take chances. Then they sealed the chamber under seven thousand tons of reinforced concrete.”
“So Mr. Reagan left office happy.” Danny grinned.
“I should think so,” Carradine said. “I’m not sure anybody actually told him about the little difficulty.”
Opal said, “Mr. Carradine, why are you sending us to Montauk?”
“Ah,” said Carradine. He looked across at Sir Roland.
Sir Roland said flatly, “The idiots are opening up the rift chamber again.”
“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call them idiots,” Carradine said. “There’s a great deal of scientific potential in that rift if we can solve the safety problems.”
“Not to mention political potential,” Sir Roland said, a little sourly. Opal knew her father very well, and it sounded to her as if there might be some differences of opinion with Mr. Carradine on this mission.
Carradine said easily, “Certainly if America can control the rift properly, it would virtually assure the security of the free world. It could become a conduit for cheap energy, for one thing. In the past, we used it mainly as a transporter—sending agents to various time periods. But if we modify the machinery, some scientists believe, it may be possible to pump heat direct from one of the prehistoric supervolcanoes. In any case, as Sir Roland says, our new president is interested in reviving the project. We started drilling down about a month ago. Now we’re within striking distance of the chamber.”
Opal said politely, “I’m sorry, Mr. Carradine, I still don’t understand why you want to send a Shadow Project team to Montauk.”
Carradine looked at her directly. “The alarm we installed went off two days ago.”
Chapter 3
Danny, Mid-Atlantic at 36,000 Feet
It was the first time Danny had been on a transatlantic aircraft, and he didn’t like it. The plane was a 747 and half empty because of a terrorist scare, so it should have been comfortable, but it wasn’t. Danny wasn’t a particularly tall boy—in fact his Nan had once remarked how short his legs were—but there still wasn’t enough room in his seat. He might have lost himself in the in-flight movie, except he’d seen it before, and it had been lousy first time round. The stale taste of recycled air gave him a headache.
But he could put up with discomfort—he hadn’t exactly led a cushy life. What was getting to him was nerves. He didn’t like the way the engine noise would suddenly vary as if there was something wrong. He didn’t like the turbulence that sometimes got so bad it felt as if the plane would shake apart. He didn’t like the way the redheaded flight attendant kept running up the center aisle with a worried look on her face. He didn’t like the feeling there was a thin skin of aluminum underneath his seat, then nothing for 36,000 feet. Most of all, he didn’t like the way the wing was moving.
Danny and the others had been booked onto a flight to New York. Each reservation was made separately as a routine security precaution, with seating spaced out so that they didn’t appear to be traveling as a team. (Michael was lounging in first class now, having drawn the lucky straw.) Shortly after they boarded, Danny had helped himself to an empty window seat, after deciding he would be less nervous if he was able to look outside. Now he was looking out at the wing and feeling more nervous than ever.
Somebody slid into the empty seat beside him. “Doesn’t it look amazing?” a voice asked. “Like a cotton-wool floor. I feel as if I could climb out there and dance across it like a fairy.”
Danny glanced away from the threatening wing to find Fuchsia had joined him (against all orders!) and was staring past him through the window at the fluffy cloud layer fifty feet below. She was wearing an orange top with a floral miniskirt over thick, lime-green woolen tights. “Does that wing look all right to you?” he asked.
Fuchsia leaned across him and stared at the wing. “It’s not on fire,” she said seriously.
“No, but it’s moving up and down—see?”
“So it is! Just a little.” Fuchsia smiled at him.
“You don’t think it might snap off?”
“The wing? Oh, it can’t,” Fuchsia said brightly. “They don’t attach two wings to a plane with glue or rivets or whatever. It’s just one big wing that goes all the way through.”
Danny looked at her, then looked back out. “It is?” he asked. “Is it really?”
“Really.” Fuchsia nodded. “My uncle told me and he’s a pilot.”
“Oh, good.” Danny glanced at the cotton-wool clouds. They did look as if you could get out and walk on them. “We’re not supposed to sit together,” he said, suddenly remembering.
“No, we’re not—isn’t it silly?” She gave him another of her smiles. “I’ll go back in a minute. I just came over to find out if you have a girlfriend.”
“Sorry?”
“A girlfriend. Are you going out with Opal or somebody?”
Not likely, Danny thought. “Opal’s going out with Michael,” he said. “I’m not going out with anybody.”
Fuchsia’s smile widened. “Just wanted to let you know I’m available,” she said. She patted his knee lightly, then tripped back to her seat.
Danny watched her go. After a moment he remembered to close his mouth.
Chapter 4
Michael, Disused Air Force Base, Montauk, New York
Montauk was not what Michael had expected. The old air force base looked abandoned. A KEEP OUT warning sign was almost wholly overgrown with grass. The perimeter fence was broken down in several places. There were weeds poking through the concrete of the runways. His car stopped outside a gateway that was hanging from one hinge. Inside the fence, portions of the base looked like a construction site. He could hear the growl of earth-moving machinery and the clank of cranes. Workmen in hard hats lumbered about unloading materials. They seemed to be renovating one of the old buildings.
“You got your ID?” his driver asked him. Michael nodded. The driver was sharply dressed in a gray suit and wore shades straight out of Central Casting, but he still managed to look like a boxer. He had to be with one of the agencies, but he’d flatly refused to give out any information on the trip from the airport. Now he climbed out of the car and held open Michael’s door like a chauffeur. “This is as far as I take you,” he said. “Don’t have clearance to go any farther. You must be mixed up in some heavy stuff.”
“Where do I go?” Michael asked, ignoring the comment.
“Tell any of the workmen you’re here to see Mr. Allen.” The driver glanced through the gate and gave the ghost of a smile. “If you get that far.”
He didn’t. Although the base seemed deserted outside the construction area, he walked fewer than a dozen steps before a uniformed security officer emerged from one of the broken-down buildings. “Michael Potolo?” she said pleasantly. He noticed the uniform was of a private security firm, but all the same she was armed and, despite the pleasant tone, her hand rested casually on the butt of the pistol in her belt. Whatever the superficial appearances, somebody was taking security very seriously round here.
Michael nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Here to see Mr. Allen.”
She smiled at him. “Mind if I check your ID?”
Michael handed her his Shadow Project papers and waited. She checked the photo ID carefully before handing them back. “Know what, Michael? You surely have a cute accent.”
Michael smiled back. “Thank you. Is there really a Mr. Allen?”
She shook her head. “You’re liaising with Colonel Saltzman. This operation is under military jurisdiction. You want to follow me, Michael? The others are already with him.”
Colonel Saltzman was not what Michael expected either. He was a slender, balding man in his fifties, wearing a sour expression and a civilian suit that made him look like a constipated bank manager. His office had the appearance of something a bank manager would use as well—large computer desk, filing cabinet, and a scattering of chairs, but nothing else. Opal and the others, including Gary Carradine, were occupying those chairs now.
“Michael Potolo, sir,” said Michael’s escort. “That’s everybody now.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Saltzman said.
“Captain?” Michael echoed in surprise. He glanced at his security guard.
“Captain Alison Woods,” she said quietly. “Don’t let the uniforms fool you—nothing’s what it seems around here.” She snapped off a quick salute to the colonel, then left. As the door closed behind her, Michael found himself thinking of a saying from his native Mali: What you see, it’s not what you think.
Colonel Saltzman pinched the bridge of his nose in a tired gesture and scowled. “Okay, we got a situation here, and they tell me you guys can help.” He looked from one face to another, with the bewildered expression of someone examining the evidence from an alien autopsy. “You’re psychics—right?”
No one seemed in a hurry to answer him before Mr. Carradine said, “Not exactly, Colonel.”
The colonel stared at him for a moment. “You’re an American, Mr. Carradine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“CIA from what they tell me?”
Carradine nodded. “Currently with the Shadow Project in Britain, but yes: I’m still CIA.”
“So tell me, Mr. Carradine, what’s a CIA operative doing mixed up with a bunch of kids from The Twilight Zone?”
Mr. Carradine gave a slight smile, but Michael could tell he was not particularly amused. Even in the short time Michael had been with the Shadow Project, he’d realized Mr. Carradine felt protective toward his operatives.
Carradine said carefully, “Let me see if I understand the situation here, Colonel. The government has authorized a revival of the Montauk Project, and we’ve been drilling to open up the old space-time rift. That about the size of it?”
“Yes.”
Carradine said softly, “I believe the alarm has gone off, Colonel Saltzman.”
A wary look entered Saltzman’s eyes. “Yes.”
“Which means something from another place, another time—from outside of our reality, in fact—could be trying to get in.” He stopped, holding the colonel’s gaze and raising one eyebrow.
The colonel shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose you could put it that way.”
“What other way would you like to put it?” Mr. Carradine asked. When the colonel was silent, Carradine said, “Let’s cut the bull, Colonel. Somebody has convinced the president that the old Project Rainbow may have stumbled on an answer to the energy crisis, and an order has come down to reopen the space-time rift. If you stop drilling, the president is going to be very unhappy. But if you keep going, you have no idea what you might let through. We both know what happened in the old days. You’re in trouble here, and my people—these kids as you call them—are the only ones who can bail you out. They’re not psychics and they’re not circus freaks. They’re trained operatives with a very special talent—and that talent could be the solution to your problem.”
There was a long, tense silence, then Saltzman’s shoulders suddenly slumped. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carradine. You’re right. They dumped this whole thing in my lap when the alarm went off, and I’ve only had a few hours’ sleep since then. Makes me tetchy.” He looked around the group. “Okay, what’s the plan?”
Fifteen minutes later they were gathered round a plan of the Montauk underground complex spread across the colonel’s desk and weighted down by a variety of objects, including his cell phone and, alarmingly, his sidearm. The place, Michael thought, was huge—almost twice the size of the Shadow Project. That was pretty much the American way. They liked to do things bigger and better than the British.
“Of course, it’s been abandoned for years,” Colonel Saltzman remarked, as if reading his thoughts. “But I remember Jack Mullan telling me that when Project Rainbow was at its height, there were three thousand people down there—scientists, armed forces personnel, clerical, and catering staff. It was like a small town. Jack—Admiral Mullan—had the time of his life running it. Pity he’s not here to see the project revived.” He hesitated, then turned to Opal. “I don’t know if it makes any difference to you, young lady, but your target is deep underground—the whole place was built to withstand a nuclear hit.”
Like the Shadow Project, Michael thought.
Carradine said, “It won’t make a difference.” He pointed to a section of the map. “This is our target—right?”
“That’s right. The rift chamber itself is intact, but it’s sealed four sides top and bottom with specially reinforced concrete. We’re drilling through here.” He pointed. “Approaching from the southwest.”
“Is that all those big bulldozers and things we saw coming in?” Fuchsia asked.
The colonel shook his head. “No, that’s part of our cover operation to mask any vibration or noise and give us an excuse to move in heavy machinery. We’re supposed to be doing renovations on the base with a view to giving it back to the air force. But the real work is underground. We have an industrial auger down there, biggest SOB you’ve ever seen. We were just a few hours off the chamber when the alarm went off. We stopped drilling, of course.”
“We’ll go in from where you stopped,” Carradine said decisively. “Opal doesn’t like projecting through solid objects, so the shorter the distance she has to travel, the better. I assume you’ve still got an electrical feed into the sealed chamber?”
The colonel nodded. “Sure thing. Otherwise the alarm couldn’t have gone off.”
“We’ll have to switch some lights on, or she won’t be able to see. Apart from that . . .” Carradine trailed off vaguely. “I can’t think of any other preparations.”
“When can we do it?” Saltzman asked him.
“I’m expecting some equipment from Langley,” Carradine said. “We can go when it arrives.”
“There was a crate delivered for you a couple of hours ago,” the colonel said. “Arrived just before you did.”
Carradine glanced at Opal, who nodded slightly. “In that case, Colonel,” Carradine said briskly, “if you can show me the way, we can go now.”
Chapter 5
Opal, Underground Base, Montauk
The Doomsday Box Page 2
