by Sam Fisher
‘Experiment 1,’ Yung said.
Behind the glass was a small stage 2 metres square. On the stage stood a chair. A man was strapped to it by restraints at the wrists and ankles. It looked very similar to the apparatus used for execution by electric chair except there were no wires connected to the contraption. The man looked petrified, but resigned. Only his fingers twitched.
‘Healthy man, aged 22,’ the technician said. ‘Prisoner AMV45.’
Mengde looked at the prisoner. He knew what should happen. He had conducted earlier trials. He knew the math. But even so, he felt a certain thrill of anticipation. Long ago he had read about the early Chinese alchemists – innovators and leaders of course, like so many other Chinese thinkers and warriors. The alchemists of the Qin Dynasty had conducted experiments on prisoners. He was part of a fine tradition.
The technician nodded to a man at one of the computers and he depressed a succession of keys. ‘We are using a pulse at 2 hertz, with a wide dispersal, low intensity beam. Please observe.’
There was a momentary squeal from the other side of the glass. The man began to shake, his eyes widened in horror. He strained against the restraints, the metal edges cutting into him. Then his eyes exploded. The spray hit the glass and the techs the other side recoiled instinctively. The man’s head slumped forward and he started to scream.
Nobody moved, no one said a word. The screeching metallic sound of the beam stopped abruptly, but the dreadful screams remained, cutting the hot, dusty air.
‘Very good,’ Mengde said after several moments. He was looking at the blinded man on the other side of the glass. The man was convulsing, covered in blood and vomit. ‘Let’s try the other setting – 7.5 hertz, and narrow the beam to 13 RDF.’
Yung Sing took a few steps across the room and whispered in the ear of one of the men at the terminals. The man tapped the keys and the technician walked back to stand beside Mengde’s chair.
‘Whenever you are ready, sir.’
‘Yes, yes,’ the Chief Scientist said slowly. ‘There is no need to hurry, is there?’ And he looked round at the technician for the first time. ‘I’m rather enjoying myself.’
They all waited another 30 seconds. None of Mengde’s subordinates dared move a muscle. The man behind the glass kept screaming. Then the scientist lifted a couple of fingers and the technician shouted to the computer operator, ‘Align the beam.’
The sound started again, but this time it was a higher pitched shriek that sent shocks along the spine and resonated far into the inner ear.
Yung raised a hand. ‘Now.’
The computer operator hit ‘return’ on his keyboard, and the man behind the glass turned to powder.
23
Fiji
Mark’s Silverback, Ringo, slowed to Mach 2 and dropped 10,000 metres. Eighty-two kilometres, and two minutes later, he pulled his speed right back and descended to an approach altitude of 3000 metres. Beneath the jet, the calm waters of the Pacific lay like a mottled black carpet.
Details of the E-Force mission had been sent ahead to the Fijian authorities and to a Royal Navy frigate currently 40 kilometres north-west of the island. The ship, the Essex, had immediately set course for the disaster zone at full speed. Mark could see it now on his sensor display as it steamed south.
Ringo came in low over the patch of ocean directly above the Neptune and Mark made a preliminary sensor sweep of the area. He was just about to read the results off the screen when his comms sounded. A man’s voice came over the system. He spoke English with a mellow Pacific Islands accent. ‘This is the Fijian Naval Authority, Suva calling E-Force jet designation E991.’
‘Hi, Suva. This is Mark Harrison aboard E991.’
‘Sir,’ the voice said. ‘I have the supreme commander of Fijian national armed forces, Admiral Sir Joni Madraiwiwi here.’
‘Admiral,’ Mark said.
‘Good evening, Mr Harrison,’ Madraiwiwi replied. His voice was deep, almost a growl, but refined. Mark surmised the Admiral was an Oxbridge man. ‘The speed at which you chaps travel never ceases to amaze me.’
‘We try our best, sir.’
‘I just wanted to let you know that you have our full cooperation. My government will provide you with any materials or personnel to assist you.’
‘We are very grateful,’ Mark responded. ‘I think at this stage we will be fine. We have to do a preliminary analysis. But I will certainly keep you and your government fully informed.’
‘Very well, Mr Harrison. We have two ships en route to the disaster site and I understand a Royal Navy vessel is on its way.’
‘That’s correct. We are always grateful for any local assistance, Admiral. But if I may, I would like you to ensure your ships adopt a holding pattern no closer than 10 kilometres from the hotel site. It’s a safety matter for you and for us. The commander of HMS Essex has agreed to this.’
‘I see no problem with that. Keep in touch.’
Mark broke his connection and heard the familiar rumble of the Big Mac as it descended to hover over the water a short distance from his Silverback. It was staying just high enough to prevent its massive engines churning the water too much.
From the main control panel of the Big Mac, high up in the top bubble of the aircraft, Pete and Mai could see the surface of the water dotted with shapes. Cutting the engines to minimum power and dropping to 50 metres above the surface of the ocean, Pete flicked on the powerful front beams and a hectare of black water lit up. The surface was strewn with debris – sheets of plastic, metal cylinders, food and other organic material.
Mai stepped down from the guidance module on the flight deck and strode into the adjoining room to check the computers that operated the outboard equipment, leaving Pete at the main panel. He looked around the now empty deck and took a deep breath. He could hardly believe he was back on operational duties again. He felt a thrill of excitement. The old adage was spot on, he told himself: to get over any traumatic experience, you had to get right back in the saddle.
Mai came back just as a buzzer sounded and Mark’s face appeared on a screen above the console. He was seated at the controls of Ringo, a short distance away, hovering 30 metres above the waves.
‘I’ve run a scan,’ Mark said, and touched a couple of keys on the panel in front of him. Multicoloured images appeared on the Big Mac screen. ‘As you can see, the shock was pretty serious. According to the design plans, the three domes are called Alpha, Beta and Gamma. Alpha is the most westerly, there on the left of the screen. As we saw at Base One, the top of Alpha has shattered, but the rest of the dome seems amazingly intact. It looks like there are some pretty heavy-duty bulkheads that seal off any section of any dome if there’s a major breach. Ironically, apart from the top floor, Alpha is the least badly hit, whereas the whole of Gamma has been shaken pretty bad. The top of the dome is holding so far, but it’s under a lot of stress. I want you to launch a Hunter to get close to the wreckage.
‘Right.’
‘Tom called in a few moments ago,’ Mark added. ‘He’s managed to explain why there are so many people at the hotel, a day before it’s due to open.’ He sent Pete an image that Tom had found on the web. It was from Entertainment Today – an article about the Gala Night at the Neptune Hotel.
Mai stared at it and sighed. ‘If I believed in such things, I would say that was very bad luck.’
‘Yeah, Mai, but I think you believe in luck about as much as I do.’
She turned away for a moment. Something on another screen had caught her eye. When she looked back to Mark, she was grimacing. ‘Mark, take a look at the surface. Coordinates, 619.3 by 342.1.’
‘What is it?’ Mark said as a fuzzy image appeared on one of his monitors. The high-sensitivity camera on the underside of the Silverback automatically honed in and refocused, showing a dark shape – a badly charred body floating face down. ‘Okay, Mai. Bring it in,’ he said heavily.
24
Dome Gamma
Harry had to
force himself to slow down. There could be no telling what dangers lay a step away. But the urge to just run, blindly, was powerful. It seemed that now he had snapped out of his usual torpor, his mind had slipped into overdrive.
The strange dull light threw confusing shadows everywhere, but in this crazy topsy-turvy world it was impossible to know what was what anyway. A few minutes earlier, all had been ordered, normal, everything under control. Now? Now, the world had collapsed.
He led the others towards the north end of the vast ballroom. Or at least he thought that was the direction. It was hard to judge which end of the room was which. All the normal landmarks were distorted.
There was a loud crack. They all froze. The sound seemed to have come from directly overhead. Harry looked up.
‘That was the cap at the top of the dome,’ Jim said, his voice hollow.
‘Can you see anything?’ Danny asked. He was squinting up at the apex of the dome.
‘Too much dust and the emergency lights are too dim,’ Jim replied.
‘Come on,’ Harry said, and he pointed towards the emergency exit. ‘I can just see the sign. Directly ahead.’
Harry weaved a path through the debris, watching for stray electrical cables and live wires. They crouched to get under a collapsed girder covered in a mess of metal sheets and lumps of concrete. Reaching the far side of the obstruction, Harry made them all stop for a breather.
‘How are we?’ he asked and looked at each of them in turn. Nick Xavier’s filthy face was streaked with tears. He wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. Alfred and Jim nodded. ‘Okay, I guess,’ Alfred panted and winced.
Danny Preston leaned back against a wall and took long, deep breaths. Kristy Sunshine looked completely dazed. She stared around at the five faces and burst into tears.
‘Time to go,’ Harry said and squeezed the girl’s shoulder. ‘This way.’
They reached the exit a few moments later. Harry leaned on the metal bar across the door, but it was locked. He pushed harder. Nothing. Alfred and Jim joined him and they all pushed together. Still nothing.
‘Locked or blocked,’ Jim said. ‘Either way, it’s useless.’
‘My dad reckoned there was a staircase,’ Nick said.
‘He did,’ Harry replied.
‘I think it’s over there,’ the boy added, pointing towards the west.
Getting over to the staircase was slow work. The floor was slick with liquid and strewn with lumps of plaster. Harry was in front. He stopped abruptly. Jim was immediately behind him. He almost crashed into the journalist.
Harry crouched down. At his feet lay a vaguely human shape. The others caught up. Danny knelt on one knee next to Harry and stared in silence as the Englishman pulled a swatch of fabric from the face of a dead man lying on his back. The victim’s face had been sliced vertically almost in two. Sinews and lumps of muscle hung limply. One eye was pulped, teeth smashed to shards. Harry emitted a low moan and jumped up, throwing back the material to cover the face of his friend and producer Terry Mitcham.
Jim stopped Nick from looking at the remains, turning him away and guiding them around the body towards the foot of the emergency stairs. Harry stared blindly into space, his hand clamped tightly over his mouth.
Suddenly Kristy Sunshine screamed, a piercing ear-shattering banshee screech. ‘I can’t stand this!’ she cried. ‘I can’t stand it. I have to get out.’ She swayed on her heels, her eyes huge dishes in the half-light. She span round, looking like a cornered animal. The terror poured out of her.
Alfred took a step towards her. ‘Calm down, Kristy,’ he said gently.
She glared at him almost uncomprehending. Then she screamed again, louder, more guttural, from the pit of her stomach. Alfred went to touch the girl’s shoulder. She jolted, whirling on him. ‘Leave me alone, you old fuck!’ she yelled.
Stunned, Alfred took a step back. Kristy started laughing hysterically and dropped to her knees, grabbing fistfuls of her hair. Alfred stepped forward again and pulled her up. ‘Get a grip, young woman,’ he snapped, his face close to hers. Kristy fixed him with a totally blank look and started screaming again. Alfred slapped her, hard. She froze, took a deep breath and seemed to suddenly wake from a dreadful nightmare. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly.
They stood in silence for a few moments.
‘The stairs are there,’ Harry said, breaking the tension. ‘They’re blocked. Jim, Danny, Alfred. Help me.’
Harry led them over, leaving Nick and Kristy to follow. A huge metal strut and a mass of ragged chunks of tile and plaster lay between them and the staircase. The four men took up positions at each end of the beam. On Harry’s command, they swivelled it away from the stairs. It was incredibly heavy and they could only shift it a short distance at a time, but after three goes they had moved the beam far enough away from the side of the stairs to squeeze past. They then set to work on the chunks of rubble and other debris.
‘Okay,’ Jim announced. ‘I think we can get through.’ He crouched down under a girder and could see a route to the steps. From there, the path was clear as far as the light would allow him to see. ‘Not sure we can reach the top, but we should be able to make some headway.’
Jim took the lead. Then Nick. Kristy ducked under the girder and crawled through the opening, Danny close behind. Alfred and Harry were last through. Emerging on the far side of the blockage, they could see the way to the mezzanine was clear. To the west, they could just make out the shape of the doorway through to Dome Beta.
‘Let’s go,’ Harry called from the rear of the group and Jim took the stairs two at a time, the others close behind.
Alfred was panting heavily and Harry stopped him a moment. ‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ the elderly man gasped. ‘Fine.’
‘No you’re not. Here, let me help you,’ Harry said, and got Alfred to lean on his shoulder.
‘I’m all right,’ Alfred grunted.
‘Shut up.’
Alfred looked at him and produced a small laugh. ‘There was a time I would have punched you out for that.’
‘I’m sure there was,’ Harry replied and heaved them up three more steps.
‘Stop a second,’ Alfred said. ‘Just need to get my breath back.’
Harry wanted to press on. ‘Of course,’ he said heavily, and they stopped a few steps from the top of the staircase.
Alfred leaned on his knees and took several deep breaths.
‘Better?’
‘Much.’ Then Alfred looked up at Harry. ‘I feel bad about slapping the girl,’ he said.
Harry stared back at him. ‘It was the right thing to do, Alfred,’ he replied earnestly. ‘The kid was hysterical.’ Then he produced a crooked grin. ‘Besides, I’ve been wanting to slap her since I heard her first single.’
25
Pacific Ocean, Fiji
A sensor on the retraction unit lowered from the underside of the Big Mac spotted the dead body floating in the water and moved into position a few centimetres above it. The unit was a cylindrical object about a metre long. Operating under its own power, it was remotely controlled by the Big Mac and could not stray far, but it was an incredibly strong machine equipped with an array of grapplers, pulleys and platforms.
Pete was controlling the device using a synapsecap. It consisted of a close-fitting plastic mesh which covered the top of his head. Two flaps hung down over his ears. The synapsecap took impulses from Pete’s brain and translated them into electrical impulses that controlled the retraction unit. Under his instructions, a pair of grappling arms extended from the sides of the machine. The arms lifted the body a metre or so above the surface of the ocean. Once satisfied the weight was evenly distributed, the unit indicated to Pete that it was ready to return. He guided it back into a holding bay under the Big Mac.
Pete could hear Mai’s voice through his comms. ‘God, what a mess!’ she said, as she stared at the mangled body in the holding bay. This was the part of the job she found the hardest
to deal with. She was a pilot, a scientist, with no inclination towards what she had been trained to think of as the ‘soft sciences’ like medicine and biology. Ironically, she was filled with admiration for her team mate Steph, E-Force’s brilliant doctor, who coped so easily with the damaged living and the dead. That was certainly not ‘soft’. But Mai knew her own skills centred on her ability to control machines. She felt comfortable solving problems that involved metal and plastic, data and mathematics – not human flesh. But she had been forced to overcome her squeamishness. What use was an emergency rescuer, she had told herself a hundred times, who felt uncomfortable around dead bodies?
‘Please tell me he didn’t drown,’ Mark said, his voice coming through Mai’s wrist communicator and breaking her train of thought. He was still aboard the Silverback watching Mai through the videolink as she turned the body over.
‘Don’t worry, Mark. This person was dead long before they reached the surface. Getting here a few minutes earlier would have made zero difference. They must have been on the top floor of Alpha.’
Mai crouched down beside the blackened form. The face was unrecognisable and the corpse’s clothes were little more than seared fabric. She could just about tell the victim was female, and from the tattered remnants of a red, braided tunic, she was clearly one of the hotel staff.
‘Any ID?’ Mark asked.
Mai moved some of the charred fabric to one side and found a melted plastic tag on a narrow chain. She turned it over and wiped the surface with her gloved hand. Using the optical implant she had been given when she first joined E-Force, she was just able to make out a few words on the plastic. ‘Michelle Lambert,’ she said. ‘Assistant Concierge.’ The photo of the woman was as disfigured as the real thing.
‘All right Mai. I’m sure poor Ms Lambert won’t be the only floater we’ll get tonight. Pete, keep scanning and bring the Big Mac down to the surface, I’m coming over. We need to get this show on the road.’
