Ancient Origins: Books 4 - 6 (Ancient Origins Boxset Book 2)

by Robert Storey

  ‘And you say it’s operational beyond this chamber?’ Stevens said.

  Dagmar gave a slow nod of his head. ‘We already have … teams analysing its output. If we can find the source of its power we might be able to harness it.’ The R&D director cleared his throat and took a rattling breath. ‘Failing that, we can attempt to simulate its energy signature.’

  ‘To activate the Anakim tech?’

  ‘I hear concern in your voice, General,’ Dagmar said, ‘Are you afraid of our research?’

  Stevens glanced behind him and the empty corridor beyond. No one was within earshot, but he knew their conversation was being recorded. The Committee sought leverage like it was going out of fashion; he’d learnt that lesson to his cost. Now I’m theirs, he thought, and I’m up to my neck in it. No, it’s worse than that, much worse, I’m ten foot under and treading water. There was no one else, no other organisation with as much power and reach as the Committee, they had people everywhere. No one could match their scale of operation and neither could anyone match their thirst for control and power, save perhaps one man, a man they now sought to bring to heel. Stevens knew they needed Malcolm Joiner, but how badly? That was the question. He was the conduit through which their eyes and ears were inextricably linked. And yet it was the GMRC’s Intelligence Division itself they craved. As far as Stevens knew, they’d had designs on Joiner’s vast operation for years, but without the intelligence director’s unique talents they would find it increasingly difficult to maintain the groundwork Joiner had worked his whole life to create. Stevens had been well aware of the intelligence director’s methods and reputation prior to their meeting; he’d been given a dossier to read. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the man’s ferocious intensity and how far he was willing to go to get what he wanted. The profile the Committee had drawn up on Joiner needed to be updated, of that there was no doubt.

  Stevens wasn’t stupid, at least he liked to think he wasn’t, and that he was alive today was testament to that fact. But he’d underestimated Joiner’s resolve on more than one occasion and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. And until the Committee had him fully under their control he would seek to distance himself from the man as far as was humanly possible. He remembered the satisfaction he’d felt when he’d knocked Joiner out cold; he felt it still. His fist couldn’t have connected with the man’s chin any sweeter and while it was a memory to savour it was still regrettable. The late Grant Debden, Joiner’s primary aide, had warned him Joiner would bear a grudge, and Stevens didn’t doubt it, which was why he’d pushed hard for the intelligence director’s expulsion from Sanctuary, although it seemed Joiner’s fate was well beyond his power to control. If he was lucky the Committee would see fit to end the intelligence director’s miserable life.

  ‘General?’

  Stevens could see Dagmar peering at him, but he remained looking straight ahead.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Dagmar said, ‘are you having doubts … about our course of action?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I think you do.’

  Stevens adjusted the collar of his uniform, which suddenly felt itchy and restrictive. ‘The less I know about your little experiments, the better.’

  ‘They’re not little, General, you should know that better than anyone.’

  ‘I told you, I want nothing to do with it.’

  ‘And I believe you.’ Dagmar placed a gnarled hand on his arm and Stevens felt a ripple of revulsion spread through his body. ‘But we need more subjects, the trials … they’ve taken their toll.’

  ‘How many?’ Stevens said.

  ‘More than twenty … less than fifty.’

  ‘Fifty!?’

  ‘Less than.’

  ‘And I suppose you want them the same as before?’

  ‘Young adults, yes. The more athletic the better, they need … to have endurance.’

  Stevens closed his eyes. The thought of what Dagmar was doing to those poor people didn’t bear thinking about, and so he decided not to. ‘I’ll get them to you within the week.’

  Dagmar removed his hand and Stevens felt instant relief.

  He opened his eyes to resume his scrutiny of the Anakim simulation and the electrical storm forming in the distance. ‘They say the lightning might damage the dome’s integrity.’

  ‘It might,’ Dagmar said.

  ‘Do you think it’s permanent?’

  ‘There’s no way of knowing.’

  ‘But if it is, it makes the dome redundant, doesn’t it?

  Dagmar remained silent.

  ‘Do you know of Joiner’s fate?’ Stevens said.

  ‘I have been privy to some of the Committee’s deliberations.’

  ‘That’s a “no” then.’

  ‘The evaluation is about to begin. I have just facilitated its undertaking.’

  Stevens looked at him. ‘Facilitated?’

  ‘It’s one of my … little hobbies,’ – Dagmar Sørensen turned to hold his gaze before a gruesome smile spread across his face like a sack of writhing maggots – ‘and I always aim to please.’

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Malcolm Joiner opened his eyes and stifled a groan. He reached up and touched his jaw, which felt swollen and tender. The back of his head ached with a dull, persistent throb while his mouth tasted of a strange, unpleasant chemical.

  Sitting up, he saw he was on a bed in a plain white room. He glanced down at the medical gown that clung to his tall frame. He felt a sense of panic rising before a rush of fury squashed it like a bug.

  He tried to recall the events that had led him to this humiliation. An image of an army uniform worked its way into his mind and his eyes narrowed. ‘Stevens.’

  Before he had time to collect his thoughts any further, the door to the room swung open and a woman entered. She wore the plain blue clothing of a nurse and an expression of detached concentration. She moved to the end of his bed to check a transparent digital chart full of live data and streaming graphs.

  Joiner reached up to his head to find a small, round patch stuck to his temple.

  ‘How are you feeling, Director?’ the nurse said, looking up at him.

  Joiner peeled off the device and threw it to the floor. ‘Where am I?’

  She removed the chart from the end of the bed and typed something onto its screen before approaching. ‘You’re being well cared for.’ She slipped the chart into a large pocket in her apron. ‘Can you lie back, please? I need to conduct a physical exam.’

  Joiner didn’t move.

  The nurse sighed. ‘Do you have a headache or feel nauseous?’

  He remained silent.

  ‘Can you tell me your name?’ she said.

  ‘I’ll tell you nothing until you tell me where I am.’

  She removed a torch from her pocket, turned it on and reached out to him.

  Joiner’s hand snaked out to grasp her wrist.

  She glanced down at his whitening knuckles. ‘I need to check your eyes for any sign of concussion.’

  His fingers squeezed tighter and a look of pain stole across her face.

  ‘You’re hurting me, Director.’ She reached out and laid her other hand on his, making him flinch at the touch.

  ‘Get,’ he said between clenched teeth, ‘your hands off me.’

  The woman leaned in close and whispered, ‘You still have friends.’ She removed her hand and flicked her eyes down at the digital chart, which she raised from its place of concealment in her apron.

  Joiner focused on the words written on its screen:

  THEY’RE WATCHING!

  DO AS I SAY!!

  Startled, Joiner suppressed the urge to react.

  He released his hold and she dropped the device back into her pocket and reached out and lifted up his left eyelid before half-blinding him with the torch.

  Apparently satisfied with the left, she moved onto the right while Joiner’s mind shifted into overdrive.

  ‘
Move closer, please,’ she said.

  He leaned towards her and realised she was trying to conceal any interaction between them, so he whispered, ‘Who?’

  ‘The Committee.’ She dropped something into his lap, a tiny, white pill, which he scooped up. ‘Swallow it,’ she said, ‘it will help.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Keeping your mind your own.’ She switched off the torch, held up her hand and raised her voice back to a normal level. ‘Follow my finger, please.’

  Joiner did as he was told while the tips of his fingers investigated the small capsule clasped in the palm of his hand.

  The nurse moved away and poured him a glass of water from a nearby sink. She held it out to him. ‘Would you like a drink of water?’

  I have no idea who this person is working for, he thought, I have no idea what this pill might do. For all I know she might be working for the Committee. Another part of his mind screamed at him: Never put your trust in blind faith!

  He hesitated and the nurse flicked her eyes to where she knew he held the pill. ‘Dehydration leads to cognitive deficiency,’ she said, ‘and you need to keep your fluids up; I believe you have an important appointment scheduled.’

  A knock on the door made them both look round.

  It opened and an armed soldier entered. His purple armour glittered under the lights and he bore no visible signs of allegiance except for the emblem of USSB Sanctuary on his shoulder. He looked from Joiner to the nurse. ‘Is he ready?’

  She nodded and he disappeared back outside.

  Left alone once more she placed the glass down on his bedside table. ‘You need to get dressed, Director, they’re waiting for you.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Ms. Dubois and her business partners. It’s best if you don’t keep them waiting.’ She moved to the door. ‘I think they like to adhere to a strict schedule and my advice, like theirs, is in your best interest.’

  ‘So you say.’

  She glanced at the glass of water before giving him a meaningful look. ‘Sometimes we just have to trust our instincts.’

  The nurse left the room, leaving Joiner to mull over his decision. Take a pill from a stranger who works for someone aligned against the Committee, or keep the status quo and rely on the Committee not to manipulate me by devious means. The choice was not an appealing one, as either way his action would lead to a complete loss of control. My life lies in the hands of another. The thought of not being master of his own destiny shook him to the core. But there was no third option he could see, he had to make a choice, for good or for bad.

  He swung his legs from the bed to place bare feet on a cold floor.

  His suit, shirt and undergarments hung from a hanger on the back of the door. Ignoring the glass of water, he stood up and walked over to slip the pill into his jacket pocket before going about the chore of dressing himself. When he’d finished tying his shoes, he looked into a full length mirror and breathed a sigh of relief. Adjusting his collar, he removed his spectacles from his top pocket and slid them on. Satisfied with his appearance, he manoeuvred the capsule back into his hand and approached the bedside table.

  He stared down at the glass of water. Should I take this pill or not? he thought. That is the question. The structure of words brought a famous paraphrase to mind: ‘It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.’

  And better to put my hands in the unknown than the Committee’s, even more so considering our recent clashes. He simulated a cough and slipped the pill into his mouth before sipping the water to let the fluid carry the small object off his tongue and down his throat.

  A sense of anxiety made his stomach tense. There was no turning back now.

  Committed to his course, Joiner grasped the door handle and emerged into a massive, crystalline hallway. He realised where he was: Tower Central, the Anakim creation positioned at the heart of the subterranean base.

  ‘Director?’

  Joiner looked round to where the female nurse waited for him, accompanied by two soldiers clad in purple armour.

  One of the armed men stood aside and gestured Joiner through. ‘If you’d care to follow us, sir.’

  Joiner glared at them. ‘I’d care to know what’s going on. Where’s Debden?’

  ‘Your aide?’ said the nurse.

  ‘Yes, my aide, where is he?’

  ‘I’m sorry to break this to you, sir, Grant Debden is dead, an unfortunate car accident.’

  ‘Accident?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I believe it happened outside the SED.’

  Joiner stared at them and reached for his personal computer. When his hand closed on nothing he checked his other pockets.

  ‘Have you lost something, sir?’ the nurse said.

  ‘Where’s my computer?’

  ‘If you’d come this way, Director.’ The soldier’s hand strayed towards his sidearm.

  Joiner’s mood darkened further. He wondered where Agent Myers was when he needed him and then he remembered what he’d done. Myers’ look of shock when Joiner had shot him in the stomach replayed through his mind. I’d do the same thing again, he thought, I had to know. I had to know if he was the leak and, more importantly, I had to find out what Stevens knew about Ares, about everything.

  The soldier moved further aside and Joiner held his ground before letting out a snort of derision. He strode past them and on down the hallway. The further he walked, the greater his pace became until he’d stretched out his stride to its full extension, which forced both the nurse and his armed chaperones to scamper along in order to keep up.

  As they neared the end of the hall, first the nurse, and then the soldiers, ceased their pursuit and Joiner turned a corner and walked alone into a huge, multi-sided atrium.

  He paused in the quiet, waiting for someone to greet him. When no such occurrence came, he moved forward across polished tiles to approach the central feature: a twenty foot wide circular emblem wrought from precious metals; the great seal of Sanctuary.

  Disorientated, he gazed around at semi-translucent walls wreathed in subtle carvings. He’d always thought it apt that the architects had decided to build humanity’s greatest structure with an Anakim tower at its centre, but due to the timeless grandeur and sheer enormity of the interior Joiner experienced a familiar sense of irrelevance, a sense that his very existence was as of much consequence as a flea to a dog.

  When he’d last been summoned to experience the rarefied air of this most exclusive of inner sanctums, it was to be informed of the mission to come, a mission to secure an Anakim artefact capable of activating long-dormant technology. How that mission fared he didn’t know. Communication links with Samson’s expedition had been severed. For all he knew Sarah Morgan had been captured and the pendant device secured, although considering his recent run of luck, he realised such an assumption was just a desperate attempt by his mind to cling to some faint hope of redemption. The thought soured his mood even further, if that were possible, and he stood staring up at the internal aspect of the tower’s spire, which soared into blue skies above.

  He frowned. Blue skies?

  Before he had a chance to pursue that thought, a whisper of sound drew his attention to a pair of dark, red doors that swung open on the far side of the antechamber, their gleaming, metallic sheen reflecting the radiance from above in a glittering cascade.

  Joiner waited for someone to appear, but the entrance remained absent of movement.

  As he wondered whether he should go through, the sound of footsteps approaching from behind made him turn to see the tall figure of a woman emerging from one of the many hallways that converged on the atrium.

  The clip-clop of heel strikes echoed closer and Selene Dubois, the Committee member who’d been the source of all his problems, swept past without a hint of acknowledgement.

  ‘This way, Intelligence Director,’ she said over her shoulder as she continued walking.

  Joiner noted the condescending tone she directed at his title and
he stifled a cutting retort before following her toward the double doors.

  Selene Dubois glided into the room beyond and Joiner increased his pace as the doors inched closed behind her. A moment later the entrance sealed shut with an audible boom, leaving the atrium empty once more save for the glimmering light of the Anakim skies above.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Joiner stared in trepidation at the immense hall laid out before him. On the furthest wall a magnificent frieze constructed of a weathered, pewter-like metal dominated the backdrop, its three-dimensional figures and strange design attesting to its non-human creators. Overhead, the internal aspect of the Anakim tower soared into infinity, its great spire angling to a distant point. Joiner couldn’t help but notice once again the strange vision of natural skies beyond its translucent gleam.

  He continued walking forward, his vision drawn back down to the horizontal, the hall and the individuals seated within. Eight people – six men and two women – considered him from their position at a large, semi-circular table located on a raised dais at the centre of an otherwise empty expanse.

  As he approached this daunting vision, Joiner realised he’d never seen so many Committee members in one place and when Selene finally joined their number, taking her seat at one end, eight became nine and he knew he was facing the power elite, the top echelon of the secretive organisation known only as the Committee.

  Joiner moved to face the select panel, ensconced as they were in their position of elevation. Each wore plain, identical attire, the women, tailored white gowns, and the men, jet-black suits, red shirts and white ties.

  One of the men got to his feet. ‘Malcolm Joiner,’ he said, ‘you have been a valuable asset to the Committee over many years, your service exemplary, and yet you find yourself here today under evaluation.’ He gestured with his hand. ‘Please, be seated and we shall begin.’

  Still smarting, physically and mentally, from the knockout blow delivered by General Stevens, Joiner glanced round to see a single chair and took his position as directed. How long was I out? he wondered. Minutes, hours … days? His mind felt foggy and slow, as if he’d been drugged, and his vision blurred out of focus. What was in that pill?! He shifted in his seat in discomfort and concentrated on the people before him. Now is not the time for weakness, he told himself, or has my incapacitation been engineered to induce just that?