The IX

by Andrew P. Weston

  “Everyone wait!” Mac paused to digest the implications of what was now appearing on his screen.

  The interior of the large, forty yard square dining and recreation center had been rearranged. Mac could see that all of the furniture had been pushed to one side in an untidy heap, and the vacated space was now filled with people. All were blindfolded, bound and gagged, and had been positioned in such a way as to surround a large device in the middle of the room. Ten armed sentries were stationed around them. All had their weapons trained on the hostages.

  No wonder their guys outside the door are much more relaxed. Hang on . . .?

  Mac adjusted the controls to his HUD and broadcast the scene to the rest of his unit. “Fonzy? You said the bombs already spotted are portable, confirm?”

  “Yes, Sir. They’re much smaller than what I’m looking at now. The other ones are capable of being carried by two men. That is something entirely different.”

  Mac felt a chill worming its way along his spine. He didn’t know if he was spooked by this latest development or not, but he got the distinct impression something had changed for the worse.

  Then another fact caught his attention.

  The kitchens are cold! The terrorists have been here for hours now, and yet no refreshments have been served? Depressing his headset, he asked, “Sam? Can you adjust the resolution so we can zoom in on the hostages themselves? Incorporate bio-filters. I want a chemical and thermal analysis of their condition.”

  “Will do, Boss.”

  Mark Stevens cut back in. “Alpha-one, this is Bravo-one. New developments?”

  Mac trusted his instincts. He always had. His ability to notice obscure details and make connections had saved his life, and the lives of those he worked with, on many occasions in the years he had worked within Special Forces. And his something’s not quite right bump was irritating him right now. Mac signaled with his hand for Sam to hurry up with his assessment, and replied, “Mark, I’ve got a feeling we’re going to have problems. Tell me, what conditions are you facing topside?”

  “Crazy, Boss. In the time we’ve been speaking, wind speed and wave height have increased again. Hailstones the size of golf balls are coming in horizontally, putting a few holes through windows and many of the lighter structures. If it wasn’t for our armor, I’m sure we’d have been drilled by now. The storm itself appears concentrated solely about the rig, and the eye is almost over us. We can’t see more than a hundred yards past the outer gantry. More serious structural damage is now taking place along the vent manifold and drill mod–

  “Watch out! Take cover.”

  Mac caught his breath. “Report!”

  “Sorry, Sir,” Mark replied after a short delay, “we’re gonna have to get out of this shit-storm. Part of the support boom stabilizing the vent just tore loose and narrowly missed taking Sean’s ugly head clean off. While I’m sure we’d all agree it would be a vast improvement, I don’t want to be the one explaining to his wife why we let a bit of weather get her man killed.”

  “Agreed,” Mac replied. “Get your asses inside. Make your approach via the control center. I want to know what’s going on with the managers, and final confirmation regarding the ordnance our friends have planted in the battery cabin. Understood?”

  “Roger that, Alpha-one. Bravo is on the move.”

  No sooner had the conversation ended than Mac’s presence was demanded at the rear of the switch room. “Boss, come and see this!” Sam muttered.

  The optic web’s principal display held much more detail than could be presented on their HUDs, and Sam was clearly worried by what the sensitive instruments were now recording.

  Mac shuffled back. “What is it?”

  “These colors represent different chemicals,” Sam replied, indicating a bar chart on one side of the screen. “What we’ve got here are excessive amounts of nitrogen, sodium, potassium, various sulfides, bitirubin, and a whole host of other bacteria.”

  Mac looked confused, so Sam got straight to the point. “Basically, those guys are sitting in their own shit and piss. And from the analysis, many have been like that for hours.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. It looks like the hostages aren’t being allowed to move. Not even to go to the bathroom. That’s a little strange, especially when you then take the temperature into consideration.” Sam tapped a set of figures along the bottom of the display.

  Mac was surprised. “What? Fifty-four degrees! Is that in Celsius or Fahrenheit?”

  “That’s the current reading in Celsius. This is what it is in Fahrenheit. And just so you know, yes, the air conditioning unit is working fine. Whatever that device in there is, it’s radiating a lot of heat.”

  The entire structure groaned about him, and Mac sat back on his heels to think things through. No cooking. No refreshments. Herded like cattle into one location where they’re literally forced to stew in their own juices.

  Another piece of the jigsaw fell into place. Hey! This is no hostage situation. It’s an execution . . .

  . . . But why go to all this trouble? I must be missing something.

  As if agreeing with his assessment, a hollow boom resonated throughout the rig.

  We can’t let this continue. Addressing the entire team, he said, “Four troop, this is Alpha-one. Standby. Standby.” After pausing for a few seconds to allow them to prepare for the message, he continued, “Four troop, we are going hot. Repeat, we are going hot. Safety of the hostages is now paramount. Mark, do you copy?”

  “Copy that, Sir. Operating procedures?”

  “You are to divide into pairs and take out all bogies on the way in. If possible, remove the sentries in the drill module and vent chamber first. I want anyone who can raise the alarm or be in a position to give covering fire, dead. Confirm?”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Once completed, slot the babysitters guarding the nuclear ordnance as well. Work your way to the control center. That will put you directly above alpha squad. We will prepare to breach the recreation room in the meantime. I will update you further once we form up. Understood?”

  “Understood. Bravo-one out.”

  Turning to his own squad, Mac continued, “Guys? Set up for rapid deployment. Stu, you’re with me. We will secure the main door and stairwell. Sam, prepare an entry charge here. I want you within the switch room itself. Stay with the scope and update me regarding any changes inside that room. Jumper, once the sentries are out of the way, take your explosive to the opposite end of the hall. I want a breach point adjacent to the kitchen. When bravo squad joins us, we’ll get a final sit-rep from Sam and go in as a team. Hard and fast. No prisoners. We’ll sort out the bombs afterward. Do you all know what to do?”

  Everyone checked off.

  “Right. Let’s get this done. Stu, we’re up.”

  Like two well-oiled machines, both men ran through their preparations as if born to them. Communications, weapons, ammunition and armor.

  Moving to the edge of the meshing, Mac waited for another squeal to grate through the rig before slipping the catch. Sure enough, the sentries looked every-which-way in alarm, but they hadn’t been alerted to the team’s presence. Using the flickering lights as cover, Mac eased through the doorway and took up position against the far wall. Stu came next. Following the same procedure, he was soon invisible on the opposite side of the corridor. Jumper waited behind the door, his detonation-charge held at the ready.

  The chameleon armor was a marvel of technological achievement. It worked by bending light from the environment around it, so that it mimicked its surroundings. It was powerful enough to mask the wearer from sight during daylight, especially if they moved slowly. Under current conditions, Mac knew they’d be impossible to spot.

  Both men edged forward until they were within several yards of their targets. Once in position, Mac took a final look around to make sure the coast was clear. Bringing his gun to the shoulder, he calmly said, “Stu, are you ready for my mark?” />
  “Yes, yes.”

  Mac lowered his head to the scope and waited.

  The structure throbbed under the assault of another gigantic wave. The sound of grinding metal quivered throughout the platform. As it did so, Mac quietly counted down, “Three, two, one. Mark!”

  Phhut. Phhut! Phhut. Phhut!

  Silenced weapons spat death into the night. Four men fell to the floor, the sound of their collapse masked by the storm-induced stresses.

  Mac twisted toward the switch room and gave a thumbs-up. Jumper Collins immediately scampered out into the gloom, carrying a strange, rubber-like hose over his shoulder. While Mac and Stu provided cover, Jumper worked his way past them and went further along the passage. Selecting a suitable point along the wall, he pressed the hoop against the surprisingly warm steel to form a ring of explosive cord.

  They waited.

  The thrumming bounding along the hallways became more pronounced. To Mac’s eyes, the walls appeared to flex, as if being subjected to enormous pressure. Plasma discharges erupted from the floors and ceilings, and wormed their way along the metal surfaces for yards at a time before fizzling out. Both Stu and Jumper looked about, earnestly checking their defensive arcs again and again as if expecting an attack at any moment.

  Mac still felt he was missing the last piece of the jigsaw. I don’t like this. What have those bastards done? Scanning back down the corridor, he said, “Sam, are you there? What are you seeing?”

  Static filled his earpiece.

  “Sam?” he repeated.

  “I sai . . . weird! The . . . uild up of energy. I’ve never seen anyth . . . like it befo . . . Do you copy? Please respo . . . Sir?”

  That’s Sam all right, but we’re getting interference. I’d better go and see what the hell is happening. Signaling for his teammates to wait, Mac scurried back toward their rally point. The closer he got to the meshed cage, the more concentrated the electrical emissions became, and he was forced to slow his approach.

  Mark’s voice suddenly broke through on the radio. “. . . peat, Alpha-one, do you copy? Boss? Are you receiv . . . yet?”

  “Yes, I am now,” Mac replied. Startled, he dropped to one knee and continued, “Mark, are you getting any weird phenomena up there? Unusual stuff, like ball lightning or ghosted images?”

  “Too right we are. It must be this damned storm. There’s an obvi . . . ectrical element to it. We’ve been tryin . . . for a few minutes now. Do you wa . . . update?”

  “Go ahead. Where are you now?”

  “On the outer rin . . . Standing posts have been eliminate . . . Weathe . . . appalling and making . . . Now, we’re about to take down the sent . . . guarding the nuc . . . in tandem. I thought you might like . . . Okay?”

  “You’re breaking up,” Mac replied. Exasperated by the hitch, he nevertheless managed to keep his temper. “Am I hearing right? Stationary sentries are dead, and you’re just about to hit the boys guarding the bombs? Yes?”

  “That’s a ye . . . yes. Wait, out!” Mark left the line open as his squad carried out the hit. “Bravo squad, on . . . mark. Thre . . . one . . . fire!”

  Time seemed to drag by as Mac waited for confirmation of the kills, turning the seconds into an eternity of suspense. Out of the blue, Sam stuck his head out of the switch room door and hissed, “Sir, you’d better get in here now!”

  Mac noticed his specialist had removed the microphone patch from his throat. “Why have you taken your com-strip off, Sam?”

  “The interference. It’s beginning to attract a static charge that will cause a nasty shock.” Sam pointed at the display. “And here’s why.”

  Conditions within the mess hall had changed. Instead of the subdued atmosphere of frightened men and determined killers, it was evident panic had taken hold. Forked lightning crackled down from the ceiling and through open wall vents. Like harbingers of death, coruscating fingers of plasma stabbed about the interior, searing flesh and incinerating bones alike. It was Dante’s Inferno come to life, and bodies were flying everywhere.

  “But I can’t hear anything.” Mac was not only shocked, but confused as well. “Why is that?”

  Sam tapped the screen. “Look here. The event is confined within some kind of localized barrier.”

  A rippling vortex had encompassed the people inside. Penetrating the frame of the rig as if it didn’t exist, it was now expanding with each passing moment. As Mac watched, a halo of power bloomed outward from the center of the nuclear device. It was followed by further concentric waves of corresponding energy.

  “Oh for fucks sake! What now?”

  Without warning, the platform shook violently, and the entire corridor began to buck and bend as if the rig had been seized in the grip of an earthquake. Despite the shriek of twisting metal, Mac could hear the sound of running feet pounding along the gantry above them. So did his men. As one, they dropped into firing positions.

  “Hold your fire,” a voice screamed. “Alpha squad, hold your fire.”

  Mark? “Mark? Is that you?” Mac called.

  His second-in-command came bounding into view. Leaping down the steps four at a time, Mark yelled, “Boss! The bombs are rigged to the bio-signs of the terrorists. We took them down, and it initiated a countdown sequence. We gotta get out of here. Now!”

  A physical shock coursed through Mac as the final penny dropped. I knew something wasn’t right. “How long have we got?”

  “Unknown. But from the way those things are winding up, Fonzy thinks a few minutes at the most.”

  Mac knew immediately what they had to do. “Mark, haul your ass back upstairs and see if you can prime the lifeboats. One member of bravo squad is to captain each craft. Alpha squad will see what we can do down here.”

  The tone of his voice made it clear the subject wasn’t open to debate.

  Mark nodded and thundered back up the stairs.

  Mac called his team together. “Boys, we don’t have long. On my count, we will enter, and then kill every bastard scumbag we see. We’re going to do our level best to get as many hostages as possible away from this place before it blows. We stay, we die. At least we might have a chance out there in the storm. Understood?”

  Three heads nodded.

  “Stu? You and I will go right. I’m high, you’re low. Sam? Jumper? You go left. Sam is high. Jumper low. Flash-bangs go first.”

  Each specialist readied his weapon and withdrew a small anti-personnel grenade. Designed to incapacitate, the flash-bang contained a magnesium-sonic core which would blind and stun any individual within its range. As the prisoners were bound and gagged, they would be spared the full effects. However, the terrorists would be further distracted for a few seconds. And a few seconds were all his men needed.

  They fanned out around the door.

  As focused as he was, Mac was momentarily distracted by a strange warping effect that was distorting the composition of the walls. In some places, the lining turned transparent. In others, flecks of light, like ethereal sprites, wove sedately in and out of the metal in a multitude of different colors.

  Shit! Keep it together, man! Taking a deep breath, he yelled, “Now!”

  Heavy boots smashed the doors inward. Two men broke left, the others right. Mac felt a tingling sensation as he crossed the threshold. Grenades detonated, adding their confusion to the unfolding drama. Men were shouting, screaming, dying. Writhing and burning within a nightmare crucible from hell.

  Mac couldn’t afford to feel sorry. Without waiting for the glare of the flash-bangs to subside, he started shooting. Keeping to his designated arc, he watched an already injured terrorist disappear amid a spray of scarlet mist.

  A body flew through the air in front of him, and Stu Duggan was knocked to the floor. Mac tucked and rolled, and another assailant turned his gun on him. Coming to his feet, Mac fired again. Tracking the bullets up his target’s torso and into his face, he kept his finger depressed until the man fell and stopped moving.

  Prolonged bursts bli
stered the air. As Mac looked for someone else to kill, an unexpected glare overwhelmed his visor’s capacity to shield him.

  What the . . . ?

  A high pitched drone bit into his ears, forcing him to his knees. en writhed on the floor, screaming louder and louder. A pressure wave sent him reeling. For the briefest moment, Mac felt the frigid breath of death wash over him, and then he was flying, upward and into the light.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Coming to Terms

  Echoes resounded within echoes. Muffled sensations intruded on the fringes of discernment. A morass of confusing thoughts and ideas fluttered sedately in the ether like snowflakes before settling around him. The all-consuming waves of pain gradually receded, and after an eternity of solitude, one defining impression remained.

  I’m dreaming.

  Marcus reached for that hope and clung on. A sense of awareness slowly returned.

  So why am I not waking?

  Then he remembered.

  My chest! Hands flew to his breastbone. He probed and prodded for any sign of the arrow that had taken him from his saddle, but his efforts only left him more perplexed. Nothing? I . . . Oh, no! I’m dead and on my way into Hades.

  He lifted his head and tried to get a sense of where he was, but an all-encompassing void surrounded him, confusing his perceptions.

  But if so, where in the underworld am I? This doesn’t fit any of the descriptions.

  His vision rippled, and a strange tingling sensation washed over him. Marcus became conscious of the fact that he could now feel the air entering and exiting his lungs. He was surprised to see a point of light appear in the distance. It grew larger by the second. Marcus attempted to sit up, only to discover his muscles couldn’t obey. Struggling to avoid rising panic, he willed himself to patience and tried to formulate a plan of action. Okay. If I’m dead or dreaming, there’s nothing I can do at this point. It’s beyond my control. Perhaps I’m merely expected to observe?

  He contented himself to watch, and found himself feeling much more confident.

  The brightness continued to swell. Marcus realized it was approaching him, and he was sure he could hear a faint shuffling sound, as if someone were walking along a corridor. The image slowly clarified into that of a man carrying a lantern. Marcus fixated on him, the first object of clarity he’d laid eyes on for what seemed like an age.