by Sam Fisher
Stephanie suddenly snapped back to reality and turned away from the splendid vista of the distant stars. She lit the fuel in the torch she had borrowed and it cut a strip of lemon light through the vacant night. She had her bearings from the earlier trip with Howard and headed straight for the crash site. She had no idea what she was doing, but she knew she could not simply lie in the dark running through her failings any longer. She had to do something, anything, no matter how futile it seemed.
No more than a few paces from Howard’s home, Stephanie began to see pieces of wreckage, strips of metal and plastic caught in the torchlight. She took the same route she had followed earlier with Howard, skirting the mound some 50 metres to the west of the Toyota. Holding the torch at head height and sweeping the horizon, she spotted the fuselage of the Silverback, nose down and tilted at a precarious angle in the sand.
She paused for a moment, turning 360 degrees. Straining her cochlear implants, she listened hard. The silence was almost total. Leaves on desiccated plants rubbed together, creating a faint rustling sound. She could hear a few insects scratching in the sand, and from far off, from the direction of Howard’s strange home, plastic sheeting flapped in the light breeze.
She pushed on, taking slow, careful steps towards the shattered aircraft. Using her enhanced vision, Stephanie surveyed the sand as she walked. She had no real idea what she was looking for. In fact, she wondered if she would even recognise anything useful if she stumbled upon it – the plane had been blasted from the sky by some strange force their instruments could not understand. Tonnes of fuel had gone up in the ensuing explosion. It was a miracle they had walked away from the crash. Miracles, Stephanie knew, were not in great supply. Perhaps they had already had more than their fair share.
Then she saw it.
It was almost unrecognisable, just a copper disc no more than 3 or 4 centimetres in diameter, lying in the sand. She stopped, her heart pounding, and dived to the ground, scrabbling in the sand with both hands. In a second, she had the cylindrical metal object clasped between her fingers. At one end, the end that had been protruding from the sand, she could see a flat copper surface. At the other end was a small glass dome. Stephanie turned the object round so the glass portion pointed towards her face. Behind the glass she could see a red bulb. It was dull, lifeless. Around the circumference of the tube, just beneath the glass dome were the words: ‘E-FORCE. EMERGENCY BEACON’.
She could hardly believe what she was seeing. Her fingers were shaking as she lowered her gaze to a point just below the strip of writing. There was a tiny switch countersunk into the metal cylinder. It was in the ‘off’ position. She had used the emergency beacon only once before, on a survival exercise at Polar Base. It seemed like a lifetime ago. The beacon was a standard piece of kit, the sort of thing the military had used for decades – it sent out a signal across a broad spectrum.
For several moments, Stephanie stared at it. She could not bring herself to look at the tiny strip of clear glass inside the copper base that would tell her the power level of the device. A bead of sweat ran down her spine and she swallowed hard, making a supreme effort to steady her breathing. Then she ran her index finger along the cylinder, resting it lightly on the plastic switch. ‘On three,’ she said aloud. ‘One, two...’
She slid the switch down.
At first, nothing happened. Then the red bulb under the glass dome at the end of the cylinder flickered into life. The beacon emitted a high frequency whine, a single pulse. Then the light switched off and the beacon died.
69
Base One, Tintara Island
‘Ah ... right,’ Tom said quietly as he stared at the graphs floating above his head. ‘So, Sybil? Was there any sort of radiation burst? Interference pattern? Anything to coincide with the signal breakdown?’
‘Each tremor was associated with a burst of ELF waves in the vicinity of the Neptune.’
‘No shit!’ Tom exclaimed and sat up suddenly. The holoscreen moved away, keeping the same distance from his face. ‘Of course! Extremely Low Frequencies. That would explain it.’ He realised he was breathing hard and made a conscious effort to calm down. ‘Sybil, what’s the range of the ELF bursts?’
‘35.45 to 36.12 hertz.’
‘The same frequency range as the interference over the Gobi Desert,’ Tom said. ‘Sybil, the ELF burst near the hotel. Was it a natural phenomenon?’
‘It was not.’
‘Where did it come from?’
‘It originated 1.36 kilometres north-east of the hotel.’
Tom stared at the holoscreen. It had flicked to a screensaver of swirling colours. ‘So, what’s there?’ he said finally.
‘Insufficient data.’
‘Why?’
‘The continental shelf falls away a little over half a kilometre from the Neptune in the direction of the source. The epicentre is located on the slope of the shelf, approximately 1400 metres beneath the surface. BigEye is not able to detect a structure there and all other radiation effects have been masked by the depth of water. It is effectively invisible.’
‘Okay, Sybil, give me the lowdown on ELF radiation, please.’
‘Lowdown?’
‘Just Wikipedia level, Syb.’
‘The very basics, Tom?’
‘Yeah, the basics,’ Tom replied testily. ‘I skipped lectures that day, okay?’
A few paragraphs of text appeared in the air. Tom quickly read through the material.
ELF (Extremely Low Frequencies) are those in the lowest known region of the electromagnetic spectrum. First discovered in the early part of the 20th century, ELF are in the range 1 to 100 hertz. They include the little understood Schumann Resonance, a natural frequency produced by the earth itself. This has a frequency of 7.5 hertz.
ELF have been peripherally linked with earthquakes. In particular, the Loma Prieta Earthquake, California, 1989. Extremely Low Frequencies were detected close to the epicentre of the quake shortly before it struck.
It is known that several military powers are experimenting with ELF in the creation of what is known as acoustic weapons, but it is believed that little progress has been made and that the US, Russia and the UK have stepped down research in recent years.
Internet rumours continue to circulate that acoustic weapons are on the wish list of several high-profile terrorist groups. Some have even suggested such a weapon has already been used. (see: Florida Bridge Collapse, 2007.)
‘I remember that,’ Tom said to himself. ‘Sybil, bring up the link to the bridge collapse, please.’
Fresh text replaced the earlier report.
The I-75 Florida Road Bridge collapsed during the morning rush hour on 22 June 2007, killing 173 people and injuring many more. According to independent researchers in the United States, the Siberian State Radio Telescope (SSRT) at Russia’s Institute of Solar-Terrestrial Physics in Irkutsk, Siberia detected a massive ELF burst moments before the bridge collapse. So far there has been little corroborative evidence to support claims of a link between the two events, but research is ongoing.
Tom looked away from the screen, lost in thought. He felt a vague tingling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Sybil,’ he said finally. ‘What was the epicentre of the ELF burst that was picked up by the Siberian radio telescope?’
‘116.23 degrees east, 42.55 degrees north.’
‘The Gobi Desert,’ Tom said slowly.
70
‘So what exactly are you saying, Tom?’
‘We’re dealing with terrorists, or some rogue military scheme.’
‘Because of this radiation burst?’ Mark replied. He was in the control room of the Drebbel, running figures through the onboard computer, prepping the sub for its approach to Dome Gamma.
‘Well, yeah.’
‘And it couldn’t be a coincidence? Or a natural phenomenon? All this stuff about the bridge in Florida – sounds a bit vague. You sure it’s not some crackpot internet theory?’
‘Well which way do you want it, Mar
k?’ Tom snapped. ‘You’ve given me three ways to explain it right there – which one you want me to pick, man?’
There was a momentary silence from the other end of the line.
‘All right,’ Mark replied finally. ‘So, let’s get this straight. You’re suggesting that someone or something over a kilometre from here is sending out a beam of ELF radiation. This radiation has produced the tremors and destroyed the Neptune. You’re also claiming this is linked to Steph and Josh disappearing over the Gobi Desert. That there’s another source of ELF radiation there that caused them to crash.’
‘Another source with precisely the same frequency, Mark.’
‘Okay, but why, Tom?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why would some military power or terrorist group aim a weapon like that at a hotel?’
‘Oh, come on, Mark! Why would anyone fly a couple of commercial jets into the Twin Towers?’
‘Okay, okay,’ Mark retorted, an edge of irritation in his voice. ‘This is getting us nowhere. Theories won’t help me get these people out of the hotel. If there’s any substance to the idea we can contact the authorities after we’re outta here.’
‘What about Steph and Josh?’
‘Tom, you’re chasing shadows. What have you got? An internet rumour that a burst of radiation projected from a site in the Gobi Desert destroyed a bridge in Florida?’
‘The area around the point where Josh and Steph would have come down is shrouded by the same interference.’
‘Okay. Let Sybil investigate.’
Tom was about to respond when a voice broke through the comms. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Tom.’ It was Jeff Tolders, one of the techs working in Cyber Control. ‘We just received a signal.’
‘A signal?’
‘A single, short burst, really weak. We’ve traced it back to a point within the search area for Steph and Josh. It was sent from an E-Force emergency beacon.’
71
Hang Cheng, Gobi Desert, 22 June 2007
As Mengde Sun was escorted away from his laboratory by two guards, he felt euphoric. Watching the American bridge collapse like a pack of cards was the greatest experience of his life. He had succeeded. He would become a legend. Turning, he saw a young man running along the passage towards him. The guards span around, guns raised. Mengde shook his head and they lowered their weapons. The man stopped a few metres away. It was the technician, Fu Tang. Mengde looked at him blankly. ‘What do you want, Fu?’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I did not want to speak in front of the others.’ And he inclined his head very slightly back toward the lab.
‘Speak about what?’
‘An idea I have, sir.’
‘An idea?’
‘May I have one minute of your time?’
They were in a conference room that led off the corridor. The guards had been told to wait outside. Fu stood at a smartboard at one end of a long table. He had slotted a CD into the drive and the board had lit up with a series of equations, line drawings and schematics. Mengde looked at them in silence.
‘Sir, today was a wonderful success. I congratulate you on your achievement. But I have been thinking for some time about other ways of utilising the beam.’
Mengde looked into Fu’s eyes. A faint smile played across the Chief Scientist’s lips. ‘Oh, you have, have you, Fu?’
Fu licked his lips and turned back to the smartboard. ‘I’ve made a study of how to use the beam through water.’
‘Through water?’ Mengde said, surprised. It was a notion that had never occurred to him.
‘Well, sir, it’s just that, as you of course know, if a ground-or air-based beam transmitter fires the beam through water, there is so much distortion produced, the beam becomes almost completely useless. It cannot be focused or modulated.’
Mengde was nodding. ‘But why would we need to pass the beam through water?’
‘Simply because NATO possesses more than 100 nuclear submarines, which between them carry close to 2000 ballistic missiles. Our great nation has only a dozen comparable vessels.’
Mengde looked at the young man, and for a second his earnest face reminded him of his own, half a lifetime ago. The realisation made him feel momentarily nauseous. ‘So, what do you propose?’
Fu seemed happy with the question. ‘I think we should build an experimental station on the ocean floor where we can develop a version of the beam that will work under water,’ he said confidently. ‘I think I have found the perfect location for such a base. It lies in international waters, a region in which no one would expect to find us.’ He pointed to the smartboard. It now showed a map of the Pacific Ocean, around the island of Fiji.
72
Gobi Desert, China
Steph stared down at the silent beacon. It was nothing more than a mute lump of metal and plastic, utterly useless. Frustration and anger welled up and she flung the thing as far as she could. It somersaulted through the freezing night air and disappeared into the blackness. Leaning forward with her palms on her knees, she closed her eyes for a second.
Thanks to her implants, Steph heard the chopper blades several minutes before the sound reached the auditory range of the average person. She strained to listen, trying to detect anything about the noise that would help her figure out what sort of helicopter it was. All she could tell was that it was a conventional chopper – twin turbo, with a five-blade main rotor and a three-blade tail rotor.
It was coming towards her.
She span around and dashed for the cover of the wrecked Silverback, reaching the mid-section of the fuselage just as a pair of searchlights at the front of the chopper pierced the crisp dark. She ducked under a protruding sheet of Maxinium as the light reached her. The chopper slowed and hovered overhead, kicking up sand and loose vegetation. She could separate out the sounds coming from overhead. Overlaying everything was the roar of the rotor blades scything the air, but beneath that, there was the lower tone of the turbines. Just within audible range came the voice of the pilot. He was speaking excitedly in Chinese.
The helicopter pulled away for a moment, making a wider sweep of the area. Steph risked peeking around the side of the Maxinium sheet. She could identify the aircraft immediately. It was a Russian-made Mi17/171, a favourite of the Chinese. But it carried no official military insignia.
The chopper swung back around and took up position directly over the wreckage of the Silverback. It’ll be taking pictures, Steph thought to herself. Good luck to them – they’ll see nothing but a blur. But, she reasoned, the base was only a few minutes flying time away. Now the wreckage had been spotted, there would be more than one chopper hanging over the place before too long.
Steph stayed very still and waited it out. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the pitch of the rotors change and the chopper moved off. She stayed where she was for another 60 seconds, making sure the helicopter was not simply banking around. Satisfied, she pulled herself clear of the fuselage, jumped down to the cold sand and ran as fast as she could back to Howard’s camp.
She shook Josh awake and started to explain what she had seen. Howard stirred and sat up. ‘What’s happened?’ the older man asked, pulling himself, fully dressed, from under an animal skin.
‘Chinese,’ Steph said. She was breathing steadily, bringing her heart rate back down quickly. ‘A chopper.’
‘It didn’t see you...?’ Josh began.
Steph gave him a withering look.
‘I’ll take that as a “no”. They flew off again?’
‘Yes. North-west.’
‘The base at Hang Cheng,’ Howard said, almost to himself. ‘They’ll be back. My home will be destroyed, they don’t care about anything.’
Steph glanced at Josh. ‘Howard, I’m sorry...’
Howard walked over to the stairs that led up to the surface. Leaning against the wall close to the first step, he was staring at the floor. ‘It’s all right,’ he mumbled without looking up. ‘Not your fault.’
Ther
e was a heavy silence for a moment. Howard kept staring at the floor as though lost in thought.
‘We’ve got to get moving,’ Steph said quietly.
Howard turned. ‘Why?’
‘You said it yourself, they’ll be straight back with reinforcements. They’ve seen the wreckage.’
‘Not immediately, they won’t.’ Howard looked from Steph to Josh. ‘They’ll wait till daybreak. Then they’ll put soldiers on the ground to go over everything.’
‘How do you know that?’ Josh asked, looking concerned.
‘I haven’t survived here this long without learning something about how the Chinese work,’ he said. ‘I told you where I got most of the electrical bits and bobs you were using. The market in Fung Ching Wa attracts all sorts. You pick up some useful information when you live the way I do.’
‘I don’t know,’ Steph said, shaking her head. ‘My instincts tell me they’re on their way.’
Howard shrugged. ‘Well, put it this way, my dear. If you’re right, we’re done for anyway. If I’m right, we have...’ And he paused to look at an old clock on a shelf close by, ‘About an hour until first light.’
‘But, Steph, what can we do anyway?’ Josh asked.
