by Sam Fisher
They reached the end of the corridor and turned.
The elevator doors were open. A man was slumped over the top of a huge cubic flight-case on wheels. From twenty feet away they could all see that the back wall of the elevator had ripped open, revealing brightly coloured wires and gun-metal grey cabling. A length of twisted steel protruded from the centre of the man's back, and his blood was dripping into a large red puddle on the elevator floor.
69
Base One, Tintara
'Sir?' the voice said in Mark Harrison's comms at Cyber Control.
'Dr Singleton.'
'I think I've found something important. Can you come to the lab?'
'Please tell me it's something I want to hear.'
'Not sure about that, sir. But it'll certainly interest you.'
'Swell,' Mark sighed and eased himself out of his chair. 'On my way.'
A few minutes later he was standing in Base One's laboratory with Dr Lucy Singleton.
'We had precious little to work with – just a few molecules of DNA scraped from one of the guns on the roof,' she began. 'I suspect it's from a hair that fell on the gun. Conventional analysers would need millions of times more DNA to get a result. Even so, the sample would have been useless if we couldn't match it up to anything.'
'But you have the Global Genetic Database.'
'Indeed we do.' Dr Singleton observed Mark Harrison over her glasses. She was in her early forties. She had a strong, intelligent face, her black hair pulled into a bun. She paced over to a console that was hooked up to Sybil.
Base One's quantum computer had complete access to one of the wonders of the 21st century. CARPA, in its wisdom, had created a database of every piece of genetic information known to humanity. It did not have the DNA profile of everyone on earth, but by combining the records of every police force in the world, every military institution willing to supply such information to the UN, every business institution that could be bribed to release its information, and every Western scientific organisation, CARPA had established a database of the DNA profiles of over five billion individuals, dead and alive.
'So who do we have, doc?'
'A certain Igor Andrei Makanov. Born in Moscow, October 1963. Soviet Army recruit, 1980. Blood sample stored and recorded, June 1984. DNA profile registered by CARPA in April 2005, using this sample. There are no more recent samples on file.'
'Soviet military training,' Mark said quietly.
'Special forces,' Dr Singleton replied, glancing at the holographic image. 'Spetsnaz, 1985 to 1989.'
'Extremely dangerous.'
'I guess so,' Dr Singleton said, 'except for this.' She touched the light keypad and the holographic image altered, and text scrolled down in front of their eyes. Mark Harrison read the next line. 'Died during training exercise, St Petersburg, May 1989.'
Exiting Dr Singleton's lab, Mark almost collided with Tom's electric wheelchair as it sped along the corridor.
'Just the man I wanted to see,' Tom said, and thrust a glossy print into Mark's hands.
'What's this?'
'A picture of the foundations of the CCC under construction in 1996. This –' and he tapped the glossy with a dirty fingernail – 'is a municipal drain built in the 1930s and left intact. It passes within a few feet of Level B6. It's a way in – and out.'
Mark stared at Tom for a moment, his face expressionless, then he gripped the boy's shoulder and smiled. 'I think it's time I got over there myself.'
70
Level B6, California Conference Center
Marty's face was pale as death. 'Oh my God,' he said quietly, and walked slowly back along the corridor. Dave stood motionless, his face buried in his hands.
'Jesus Christ!' Foreman exclaimed, one hand on his forehead. His face was creased with anxiety. He looked around as though a way out could be found in the very air. 'Right,' he said after a moment. 'We're running out of options here.'
'Sure are,' Dave said through his fingers.
'May I make a suggestion?' It was Jerry Goddard. 'We can't go back up the ramp – the smoke is too bad up there and more cars could blow. How about I go see if I can get back up to the elevator shaft on B5, get the door open and climb the access ladder?'
'That's basically how we got down to B3,' Marty said. 'But the access ladder was almost destroyed, and it was ripped from the wall above B3.'
'But it might be possible to get to B3 and then find another way up from there. If we can reach B2, we might be able to get up the entrance ramp to Ground.' Goddard looked at each of them. Apart from his injured leg, he seemed in the best shape of the four.
'But we've just come from B3.'
'I know, but there might be options from there.'
'How are you going to get to the elevator shaft on B5? You can't use the ramp, the smoke's too bad now,' Dave said.
'The emergency stairs. One of them must be passable. Might even be able to get higher than B5.'
'It's a plan,' Foreman said after a moment. 'I'm coming with you.'
Goddard shrugged. 'If you feel up to it, Senator.'
Foreman turned to Dave and Marty. 'Dave, we need to look at that arm. Let's get into one of the rooms along the corridor.'
They made their way back. Along the corridor they found a water fountain they had missed on their way down. Dave tried it. It was working. He bent his head down and took a long draught of the cold water. It had a metallic edge to it.
They returned to the room with the open roller-door. Foreman wandered off and came back a few moments later with an armful of white fabric. 'Tablecloths,' he said.
They ripped the cloths into strips and wetted a couple from the fountain. The tear in Dave's arm was deep but not life-threatening. Foreman bound it tightly with a damp cloth, then made a sling from another length of material. Then he cleaned the blood from the young man's face and dabbed at the cut across his forehead. Meanwhile, Goddard cleaned and bandaged the cut in his calf.
'We'll be back soon,' Foreman said to Marty and Dave as he turned towards the door.
The senator followed Goddard into the corridor and they set off in the direction of the ramp. The smoke was worse than before. There was no way they could get to the eastern side of the building. This meant they only had two chances. The emergency stairs at the back of the complex, and the ones at the front – both were on the western side. They headed for the stairwell at the back of the CCC.
They found a corridor to their right with more storerooms, one or two with open roller-doors. Goddard led the way. The air became clearer with each step. More lights were working here. They took two turns, a left and then a sharp right, and found themselves at the door to the emergency stairs. It was shattered and half the staircase had been destroyed. It was impassable.
'Oh, swell!' Goddard exclaimed. 'The front stairs are our last chance.' He pushed back past Foreman and ran along the corridor towards the front of the CCC.
The two men emerged in the parking area of B6. It was as packed as the levels above, but most of the cars were in better shape. Goddard wove between them, with Foreman close behind. In a few minutes they had reached the front emergency stairwell. Goddard leaned on the door and pushed. It opened. Concrete steps led upward.
'Phew!' Foreman exclaimed.
Goddard turned. He had a gun in his hand, a Smith & Wesson Model 500 Magnum. He lifted it to waist height. Foreman looked at the gun, confused. Then he noticed Goddard's sleeve had ridden up to reveal a gruesome tattoo.
'Phew indeed, Senator Foreman. I'm afraid this is the end of the adventure. My name is the Dragon. I'm here to kill you.'
Part Four
GOING UNDERGROUND
71
California Conference Center, Los Angeles Josh, Mai and Stephanie had just emerged into the night air through the shattered doors of the eastern side of the CCC when Mark's face appeared on their wrist screens. He was wearing a cybersuit, complete with flight helmet.
'Status?' he asked.
'Plan A's shot, Mark,' Josh sa
id. 'The emergency stairwell below B1 is useless, and we can't get anywhere on that level – there's too much damage. We're running out of options. You're suited up?'
'I'm coming over,' Mark replied.
Josh raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
'Tom's just found a new option,' Mark continued. An image of the CCC's foundations appeared on the team's flexiscreens.
'How do we get in?' Mai asked.
'A ground level entrance about a hundred yards north of the complex. Here.' He sent them a map. 'Take the Pram . . . and you'll need the Sonic Drill. There's about a yard of earth between the drain and the wall of the CCC.'
'How do we know if we can get to B3 from B6?'
'No need. Pete's working his way onto B3 in the Mole – he's just picked up a faint trace of four people on B6. We're pretty sure it's Senator Foreman and the others. God knows how they got there. Just have to hope they stay put. Steph? What's the status of your suit?'
She tapped at her wrist and studied the screen for a second. 'The tear is almost fixed.'
'Yeah, copy that here. Sybil reckons your systems should be fully operational in a few minutes, but I think you should stay back at the Big Mac.'
'Wilco.'
The Pram got its name from a conversation between the designers that had turned ironic over a beer. Known officially as a High Speed Ground Transporter (or HSGT), it was about as far removed from a pram as any vehicle could get. Inspired by the hovercraft invented by Sir Christopher Cockerell in the mid-1950s, it was a sleek, low-profile transporter that skimmed along an inch above the ground. Capable of speeds up to 200 miles per hour, it was easy to manoeuvre and could carry six passengers and more than 2000 pounds of equipment.
With Mai at the controls and Josh beside her, the Pram shot from the exit hatch at the back of the Big Mac, swerved sharply to avoid a pile of twisted metal and concrete, then swung past Ringo and onto the slip road to the south of the CCC. Its powerful headlights cut through the gloom. The husk of the gas station – where the shooter had been – flashed past on their left. One of the underground gas tanks had blown, shattering the forecourt and reducing the building to rubble.
The road swept west and then curved north. Approaching the back of the CCC, Mai took the Pram across a well-manicured lawn now strewn with detritus. Sheets of paper whipped up by the breeze cascaded onto the windscreen. They tapped on the glass like impatient fingers before flying off into the night. A line of trees to the left was lit up by the white beams of the headlights. The trees were stripped bare. Paper and other debris had caught in the branches.
Mai pulled on the steering column and they swung a sharp right, slowed and drew to a halt. Jumping out, they could see the orange and yellow flames still licking the western wall of the Conference Center, and smaller fires dotting the horizon. A couple of yards from the Pram was a low brick wall. A concrete slope led down to a metal door.
They were each armed with stun pistols that could fire a narrow electromagnetic pulse that had a similar effect to the tasers used by police forces. Mai had a small med-kit on her shoulder and Josh carried the Sonic Drill, a device that looked like a bulky rifle. Made from a carbon-aluminium composite, it was extremely light, but a powerful generator at the business end produced a focused ultrasound beam in the range of 35 kilohertz. This could cut through almost any material with astonishing ease.
They reached the door. It was locked.
'Stand back,' Josh said, raising the Sonic Drill. With the device set to its lowest power setting, he fired a pulse. A foot-wide hole appeared where the lock and the handle had been. The door swung inward, limp on its hinges.
They flicked on their helmet lights, revealing a short, sloping corridor with a low, sodden roof. Green slime and moss hung down. They could see a narrow vertical shaft at the end. It was little more than a yard wide and had rungs cut into it. Mai led the way. She peered down the shaft, her helmet light illuminating the first twenty feet. Beyond that lay a featureless black.
It was unnerving in the shaft. Josh and Mai felt as though they were floating in space. All that was visible was concrete above and below, as far as their lights could break the gloom. They knew from the schematic that it was a deep shaft, descending to a depth of some 80 feet below the surface, but it felt as though they were climbing down hundreds of feet. They could see from their wrist screens that the temperature was dropping rapidly as they descended. The oxygen content of the air was also falling, and the moisture level rising.
Mai saw the concrete floor light up in the beam from her helmet. After a dozen more rungs she had reached the base of the shaft. She stepped aside to let Josh into the narrow space. Ahead, a low-ceilinged circular passage fell away into darkness. Water ran along the ground, gurgling into a hole close to the foot of the ladder. A few moments later they were standing in the drainage tunnel itself, their helmet beams lighting up swatches of curved wall.
The tunnel – which was once the primary drain of the city – was ten feet high and twelve feet wide. It ran under Los Angeles for fifteen miles, emerging just south of Marina del Rey. It had been decommissioned and superseded by a more modern pipe in the early 1990s, but a trickle of water still flowed along it in a shallow channel. Its walls were coated in slime, and it smelled of damp and rotting organic material.
Mai looked at her flexiscreen, which was glowing with a soft light in the darkness. She could see the schematic of the area. A little under a hundred yards to the east was the lowest level of the CCC, a black block on the display. The tunnel showed up as a narrow red line. It curved slightly north, then ran in a straight line east for more than 50 yards, before curving sharply south and almost touching the north-west corner of the CCC. After that, it ran along the edge of the building to the north-east corner.
'Base One? We're in the tunnel.'
'Copy that, Mai.' It was Tom. 'You can see on the schematic the tunnel gets closest to B6 exactly 12.6 yards along the north wall of the CCC. That will get you into the storage area – room B63. I can't tell what's immediately behind the wall there, so take care.'
'Okay. Where's Mark?' Josh asked.
'I'm aboard John,' Mark's voice came over the comms. 'ETA at emergency site in nineteen minutes.'
Josh led the way along the tunnel. The only sound was their own breathing and the faint trickle of water.
'I never even knew this thing existed,' Josh said into his comms.
'Don't think many people do,' Mai responded from a few yards behind him. 'But there's a complex web of tunnels and drains under Los Angeles, just as there is under most big cities. Over the decades, developers just built on top of what was already there. It's kind of tranquil, don't you think?'
'Maybe it is to you, spacegirl. You're used to being cooped up in confined spaces. It's not my favourite thing.'
'Josh Thompson! Not a weakness, surely? Not a chink in the armour?'
Mai could hear Josh sigh. 'Wish I hadn't said anything,' he said with faux-seriousness.
The way was almost completely clear, with just the odd pile of something unsavoury close to the trickling channel – organic waste and decaying wildlife that had somehow found its way into the drain. Josh and Mai made rapid progress, covering the hundred yards in under a minute.
As they approached the point where the wall of the CCC almost touched the rim of the tunnel, their flexiscreens showed their position. Mai walked ahead and stopped. Her helmet beam swept across the slime-covered wall of the drain.
'Right there,' she said, pointing to a spot at the centre of the light beam.
Josh swung the Sonic Drill from his shoulder. Pushing a button on the side, three retractable legs shot out and unfolded, before snapping into place automatically. He stood the device a foot from the wall, altering the height of the legs so that the barrel of the drill was level.
Suddenly, they heard a small splash of water, as though a foot had slipped into the channel running the length of the tunnel. It was followed by a tap, then a high-pitched whine
. They spun around towards the source of the sound. Josh almost knocked the drill over but caught it in time.
Mai was closest to the sound. Her hand shot to the stun pistol at her hip. In a second she had adopted the 'power stance' – left leg a little in front of the right, both hands holding the pistol at arm's length, her body turned slightly to the right. The light on her helmet cracked open the blackness.
Instinctively, they held their breath as they tried to detect the source of the sound. There was a sudden movement, a shape at the edge of the beam. Mai swung the stun gun. 'Who's there? Stop! I'm armed.' The shape vanished.
Silence for a second. Then another scrape. Josh flicked on a secondary light at his sleeve, allowing the beam to dance along the filthy wall of the tunnel. The shape reappeared and Mai fired. A rat the size of a tabby cat staggered into the pool of light, writhing in agony as the stun pistol sent an intense electromagnetic pulse through its body. The creature threw its head back, jaws open, eyes rolling. Then it seemed to crumple, its legs twitching as it died.
72
Kyle Foreman raised his hands. 'If this is some kind of –'
'Joke? No, no joke, Senator. I'm very serious.'
Foreman started to walk backwards slowly. His only hope was to stall him. 'Who sent you? What's all this about?'
The Dragon raised the gun. The point of the barrel was two feet from the senator's head. Foreman stepped back again and came to rest against a concrete pillar. The Dragon matched his steps and stood with his feet splayed, both hands on the gun.
Foreman caught a slight movement at the edge of his vision. Behind the Dragon a large chunk of concrete was swinging from a thin steel tube. The metal was bending, about to snap. He had to buy some time.
Then suddenly he knew what to do. 'Watch out behind you!' Foreman yelled.
The Dragon didn't so much as flinch. 'Oh, Senator Foreman, please! You insult me!'
Foreman saw the Dragon's finger moving back, the skin whitening as he pulled on the trigger. A line of sweat ran into his right eye, stinging.
