by Nick Thacker
“Yes. They had a few test sites set up back when they were ‘above ground.’ But a year later—1980, I think—they wiped everything clean. Up and left.”
“Where’d they go?”
“No idea. It doesn’t say in public records, and most of the documentation I can find seems to imply they disbanded. Whatever the case, they did a great job of staying under the radar. The next time they popped up—ten years later—it wasn’t ‘they,’ but just a key team member here or there, all working on separate, unrelated projects around the world.”
“And Jeremiah Austin? He pop up anywhere?”
Dawson moved to grab another folder from the top of one of the smaller stacks. “Not really. Brief mentions in academic papers, one journal entry from Elias Storm, that’s it.”
Dawson scratched his head. Larson still hadn’t let on why he wanted Dawson to keep repeating the same stuff, over and over again. They’d been through it almost five times in the past two hours. It was getting late, and—
“Elias Storm mentions Austin once, but he doesn’t ever mention his own brother,” Larson said.
“He doesn’t. Not in this journal. Maybe there were others?”
“Maybe. But think about that. If he had contact with Mitchell, he’d probably mention it in his own personal writings. If he didn’t, don’t you think he’d wonder why?”
“And write about it?”
“…And write about it. I think he would have said something to that effect, like he was wondering or concerned or something. But he didn’t. Not even so much as an acknowledgement, here, at least, that he had a brother.”
“Because they had a falling out,” Dawson said.
“No. Because Elias knew what his brother—and Austin—was working on. He knew what was at stake. We don’t, but he did. And Nouvelle Terre figured out that he did, and they killed him for it.”
Larson frowned, then spoke again. “I think our friend Vertrund knows too. I think he’s staying ahead of us on purpose. He needs me to figure something out, but he can’t tell me.”
“This thing isn’t about energy, is it? You said so yourself. Nouvelle Terre was never interested in energy. They’re still not, are they?”
“They are, but only to get what they want. It’s a means, not an end. If Vertrund’s one step ahead of us, Jeremiah Austin is one step ahead of him.”
“How do you know that? We don’t even know where he is. Shit, I don’t even know what the guy looks like!”
Larson shuffled through some old newspaper clippings as he spoke. “Vertrund was playing us, but he was playing us well. He knew I’d understand this better than anyone, but he didn’t want to let on that he did.”
He found what he was looking for and pulled it out of the pile. “Vertrund needed me to know who we’re dealing with, but he couldn’t let on to his superiors that I’m in on it. He couldn’t let them know, without putting himself at risk, that I’m closer to this than they’d like.”
Dawson was thoroughly confused now. He stared at Larson, not sure what to expect. The older man held up the clipping, and Dawson could see that it was starting to yellow on the edges.
“This was taken in 1969,” Larson said as he began unfolding the document. He held it out to him.
Dawson reached for it and had to choke back a laugh. “That’s—that’s the president.” It was, but it was a young president—long before he’d even considered a run for political office. He had to be in his early twenties, judging by the thick crop of dirty blond hair that sat disheveled on his head. His characteristic grin—toppled down on one side, giving him a mischievous and nonchalant look—extended wide across his face. Dawson took in the picture and recognized the man immediately, but stopped when he saw the other figure in the picture.
“This is you?” he asked Larson. Again, the image was of a much younger picture, but the features gave the man away—distinct, rigid jawline and a short-cropped military cut above a dark-skinned, fit body.
“It is. I knew him—briefly. It was a summer vacation home my parents took us to each year. The president—Harry, then—lived across the lake. We struck up a friendship fishing and swimming, and going out to town on the weekends. This picture was taken after some movie star rolled through. We went to see them, and there was a newspaper that caught us in the background. The picture wasn’t used for much, just a biography when Harold made it to the White House, and I wasn’t ever named as his sidekick.”
Dawson was appalled. “You know President Mathers?”
“Knew. That’s not the point. I didn’t know him well, anyway. But he had a friend—a cousin, actually—an older boy who’d come down every now and again. A few times that summer. I never met him, but I saw him once. Harold said he was at college, but came out there to get away from it all.”
Dawson closed his eyes. “Who was he?”
“A cousin, like I said. Distant—almost not even relevant. But he was smart, and Harold was smart, so I guess they hit it off. Harold really looked up to him. Jeremiah. Jeremiah Austin. Saw him once, then he was gone. But Harold raved about him constantly after that. Said he was ‘going places,’ that he was the ‘smartest kid he knew’ and such.”
Dawson cringed. “You’re telling me the President of the United States and Jeremiah Austin are cousins?”
“Afraid so, Ken. That’s what we’re here for, though. To figure this thing out and stop whatever it is Austin’s trying to do. The president needs it to be done so he can sweep it under the rug and not have a political—and personal—mess on his hands, and Vertrund needs us to do it because if anyone else finds out—”
Dawson understood. He nodded, and stood from the table. “It’s late, Craig. Get some sleep. I’ll be back tomorrow, after I get done at the office.” He glanced at the two empty highball glasses that had collected condensation rings around their sides. “I’ll bring the fuel.”
Chapter 23
“WE NEED TO HEAD UP; get to that geothermal station on the main level,” Carter said.
The group was back in the tunnels, having left the cavern—and Lindsay’s body—behind. Carter knew it was the right decision. It was, after all, the original plan.
They’d been attacked by an overt force, and now by an unforeseen one. Was it the same one? Were they being toyed with one team member at a time?
Carter tried to imagine the woman’s final thoughts. He wasn’t much for sentimental reminiscing; he just wanted to gain insight into her untimely death. It was brutal, that was certain. But was it purposeful?
Were they not alone in these caves? Maybe there was something tracking them. Maybe there was something about this place that none of the previous inhabitants—none of the builders even—knew about.
He was getting ahead of himself. As a trained military officer, he was strategic-minded. When his subordinates thought through current situations, Carter thought three steps ahead. This mission was no different. He’d been thinking strategically since they’d disembarked.
He’d thought of the big questions.
Would they find whatever it was they were looking for?
Would they be able to retrieve Jen’s son?
Would they be able to stop whatever it was Nouvelle Terre was planning?
But he also thought through each of their situations in terms of cause and effect breakdowns. If they did A, would the enemy do B? And what if they didn’t? What were the alternatives? What were the pros and cons of each move?
He thought through these situations with the resolve needed by an officer of his command, but he also knew it made him cold, impersonal rather than charismatic, calculating rather than empathetic.
But he didn’t care.
He wasn’t good at what he did because his units liked him; he was good because he got the job done.
This was no different. It was a job, one that had defined objectives and specific deliverables, and he’d die before he gave up on them. He had nothing else in this life to lose, so he’d do what was required. A shar
p stab of pain lanced through his body, but he just as quickly pressed it back down. He’d been told these psychological exertions were precursors to a more chronic form of PTSD, but he wouldn’t let something like that get in the way of his line of duty. He’d been down that road before.
Their current situation was unfortunate, but not mission-critical. They’d lost a member of their team, but it was a C-team member, at best. Dr. Richards, he knew, was here as a secondary backup to Dr. Pavan.
A backup to the backup.
If Jen couldn’t figure out what Nouvelle Terre wanted and deliver it, Dr. Sanjay Pavan—by all accounts an equally accomplished scientist—would. They’d move heaven and earth to get the job done because Nouvelle Terre had done their job extremely well.
They’d created an incentive for Jen that was impossible to ignore.
Jen spoke up from behind him as he walked. He’d almost forgotten he’d delivered an instruction.
“Carter,” she said. “I disagree. I think we need to stay here.”
Carter slowed, but he didn’t stop moving.
“We should at least try to figure out what attacked Lindsay, right? I mean, it’s still out here somewhere.”
He paused, trying to formulate a response.
“If we get to the upper levels and this—whatever it is—follows us there, we’ve got two problems.”
Carter finally stopped walking. He turned to Jen and the others. “Yes, but only one of those problems will attack us. We need to get a jump on finding what Nouvelle Terre’s looking for.”
“But—”
Carter saw Jen’s husband frown at her, silently pleading with her to stop arguing. She hesitated, but then resumed her stubborn reasoning.
“Listen, Carter…Corporal Carter…we’ve got to figure out what attacked Lindsay, and that’s going to be here. This cave system isn’t large, remember? We should be able to—”
“We’re moving.” Carter’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue further.
Jen opened her mouth to speak again, but was cut off by Dr. Pavan’s loud shout.
“Hey! Over here—look at these!” The man was standing on the side of the cavern, scrutinizing the cave wall. “Can someone shine their light over here?”
Saunders pointed her flashlight toward Dr. Pavan, illuminating the entire section of wall. She stepped forward, trying to see what the scientist had gotten excited about.
Carter couldn’t see anything either, but he stood his ground.
Erik and Jen both approached the wall as well, and it was Erik who spoke first.
“They’re scratches. Just like the ones on Lindsay.” He swallowed hard at speaking his former boss’ name.
“They’re all over this wall, and some of them are deep,” Jen said.
Carter was intrigued, but only momentarily. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get to that power plant and see what this is all about.”
“No, Carter,” Jen said. “I’m staying. This wall—those scratches on Lindsay—they’re not normal. These marks were caused by something, and we’ve got the evidence right in front of us to figure out what it is.”
“Why don’t we split up?” The group looked toward the speaker—Mark Adams. “We could split into two groups, one staying here, and one heading toward the power plant. There’s also a geothermal station on Level Four that I saw on the map. It’s probably tapped into the same plant, but it’s no doubt going to be more hospitable.”
Carter considered this option. He didn’t like it, but it was better than staying in one place. Jen would of course stay behind, as well as Dr. Pavan. Aside from examining the level surrounding the power plant, his mission was to find and eliminate the hostile force pursuing them. He’d need as much firepower as possible for that.
“Okay, fine. Mark, Erik, you’re with me. Mason and Saunders, you too.” The group began shuffling around, half of them preparing to leave with Carter.
“The rest—Jen, Dr. Pavan, Hog—you stay back. We’ll head to the main level first and make our way down using the stairs. Anything moves from that direction—” he motioned with his head down the tunnel,“shoot it. Ask questions later.”
He nodded once, checked over the two groups, and turned to leave. He caught Mark’s eyes as he turned—wide and surprised—and knew that the man hadn’t intended this outcome.
Jen, however, seemed fine.
“Great. Dr. Pavan, what do you make of these marks?”
Chapter 24
“SO YOU’RE A COMPUTER GUY, then?”
“Yep. Been working in computer security for my entire professional life; just moved into management a few years ago,” Mark responded. He focused on the back of the soldiers head as they moved upward through the cave system.
Mark had been fielding questions the entire half hour they’d been walking, except for when they stopped in the large cavern where Lindsay’s body lay. The civilians wanted to bury her, or at least move her body somewhere else out of respect, but Carter knew that wasn’t an option. The ground was solid rock, and they didn’t know these tunnels well enough to know what “out of the way” meant.
Carter approached the sprawled figure, eyeing around it for further evidence, but saw nothing. He peered around the room, looking for any sign of life or activity.
Satisfied, he nodded once, and the team continued their ascent.
Immediately after leaving the large cavern, the line of questioning continued. They asked Mark about his professional and personal life, about Reese, and about Jen. Erik seemed especially interested, but even Carter asked him a few questions. The only seemingly uninterested one of the five was Saunders.
Mark could see her slender figure in front of Mason sliding along at a steady and effortless pace. He wasn’t attracted to her, as she was cold and seemed apathetic about his personal situation, but he noticed that she wasn’t a physically unattractive woman.
Mason asked another question. “So, you work at a government place?”
Mark knew the soldiers—at least Carter—had been briefed on all of the civilians’ professional and personal lives, so the questions did seem a little forced. Is Mason trying to make friends? Mark thought.
“Uh, well, yeah, I guess you could say that,” Mark responded, caught a little off guard. “We weren’t originally. Most of our contracts were private sector security or IT companies. About three years ago we pretty much sold out to the government, though. But they don’t have a controlling interest, and we don’t do any contracting outside of their projects anymore. They send us work, sometimes their own, sometimes from companies they work with, but it’s always sourced through them.”
“Hmm.”
Mark wasn’t sure if he was being asked another question—implied in Mason’s silence—or if his answer had satisfied.
He decided to ask one of his own.
“What about you guys? What brings you to the States?”
Mark quickly rephrased his question. “I guess I mean, what brings you here—under five miles of ocean to help a scientist find her kid?”
Carter answered this time. “We were given orders from the top. My team and I usually operate like a special forces unit, and this time around the orders came from somewhere above my pay grade.”
Mark thought about this answer a moment. “Were you stationed around here? Or in the US?”
Mason answered. “Nope, we were on leave. Happens all the time though. ‘Leave’ to us just means, ‘get ready to leave again.’”
He didn’t give more details, so Mark dropped the subject and kept walking. Within minutes, they reached the cave opening on Level Four, and Carter held up his hand.
“Hold up here. Mason, why don’t you see what’s going on out there.” Mason stepped forward and crouched in the cavern entrance. Saunders fell in beside him, her gun pointed outward.
Erik and Mark waited behind the three soldiers until Carter walked out onto the concrete street of the housing district. He moved swiftly toward the first of the white houses o
n their right. Moving past the first floor windows facing the cliff, Carter stopped at the end of the house’s wall and looked around the corner.
“I don’t see anyone,” he said softly. He was one hundred yards away but his voice carried easily through the air. The two other soldiers waited a few seconds, then Saunders told the civilians to move toward Carter.
Mark and Erik jogged side-by-side toward Carter and joined him at the side of the house, finally followed by Mason and Saunders.
“Let’s stay between this row of houses and the cliff until the housing district ends, then we’ll move along the tracks toward those buildings in the distance.” He pointed with his gun at the large, rectangular buildings—four in all—about four hundred yards away. He started running next to the line of houses until he reached the end and crouched next to the track that encircled the entire level.
The others followed, with Mark next to Erik, followed by Saunders at the rear. They reached the buildings and Mark could see that they were each labeled with a large black number on their sides. “4” was directly in front of them, with “5” next to it. He assumed they were in a section of the base that handled part of the food requirements, as he became suddenly aware of a faint fishy odor in the air.
“Smells like dinner,” Mason said.
“These are all fish hatcheries. It’s a seafood farm,” Carter said, walking toward the first building in the block—“1,” which sat adjacent to “4” in front of them.
“Alright, let’s get to that geothermal station,” Saunders said. It was the first time she’d spoken since they’d left Jen and the others behind, and Mark could tell she wasn’t interested in poking around any longer than they needed.
Carter reached the end of building “1” and stopped to look around. They still hadn’t seen—or heard—anything of their earlier attackers, nor had they found any more evidence of Lindsay’s mysterious killer. Carter wasn’t taking chances though, and he waited a full thirty seconds before stepping out toward a small building set a few paces away from the fish farms.
