Trish nodded and Jason wiped his hand across his face. ‘Jesus, I hate it when we’re right.’
‘Do you think you’re up to leaving?’ Trish said.
‘I don’t know; I think so.’ Sarah looked at her bandages and the drip attached to her arm. ‘Would I prefer to have the artefact removed? Yes. Do I want to be hung from a tree or worse? Not really.’
‘Jason,’ Trish said.
He didn’t respond, he just stared at the screen, transfixed.
‘Jason!’
He looked round.
‘Are the supplies ready?’ she said.
‘Yep, and I put the parchments, helmets and the Mayan tablet in, too.’ He pulled out their Deep Reach rucksacks from underneath Sarah’s bed. ‘We just need food and water.’
‘Okay, go get that and I’ll get Sarah ready.’
He nodded and left the room.
Trish looked at Sarah and pulled off her bedcovers. ‘They said your wounds are healing well. We’ll leave the bandages on and dress them again when we have more time.’ Trish reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Now, are you sure you’re up to this?’
Sarah looked down at the IV line inserted into the vein on her arm. Pulling off the tape, she slid the needle free and then grasped the cannula that protruded from her skin. She looked up at Trish and then at the TV where their images remained. Their choices had gone. They had to go. Taking a breath, she tensed her face and yanked the device free.
♦
Fifteen minutes later Jason returned laden with food and a five gallon bottle of water.
‘Did anyone see you?’ Trish said.
He shook his head. ‘Turns out I’m a pretty good thief. And it’s still technically the nightshift, the nurses are spread thin and the kitchen was empty. I feel bad, though, most of this stuff is for the patients.’
‘Don’t worry’ Trish said, ‘they’ll have more where that came from.’
Jason dumped the keg of water on the floor and stuffed the stolen food into the bags. ‘I thought you said you’d get her ready.’
Sarah looked down at her hospital issue pyjamas.
‘They cut her coveralls off when she was admitted,’ Trish said, and manoeuvred a wheelchair round for Sarah to get into.
‘Is your arm okay to push me?’ Sarah said, draping her Deep Reach jacket over her legs. ‘Walking doesn’t make me as dizzy as it did.’
‘As long as it’s not uphill it’ll be fine.’ Trish looked at Jason. ‘You ready?’
‘Hang on.’ He rolled the large bottle of water over to Sarah’s chair and placed it on a rack located underneath. He then picked up the bags and held open the door, but before they could leave a nurse appeared in the doorway.
She looked at Sarah in concerned confusion. ‘¿Qué está haciendo?’ she said, ‘¿por qué no es ella en la cama?’
‘We’re taking her for a walk,’ Trish said, and wheeled Sarah into the hallway.
The nurse shook her head and grasped the back of the wheelchair. ‘No – no outside.’
‘We asked the doctor,’ Trish said, ‘they said it would be okay. Le pregunté al médico.’
‘¿Eh?’ The nurse glanced back down the corridor.
‘Go and ask her. Ir y preguntarle.’
The nurse hesitated, reluctant to leave Sarah’s side.
‘We’ll wait here for you,’ Trish said.
Jason nodded and smiled, and the woman let go of Sarah’s chair and walked away while glancing back every now and then to make sure they were still there.
‘We’ll be right here!’ Trish called after her.
As soon as the nurse had gone round the corner, Trish moved into action and Sarah found herself being rolled down the corridor towards the nearest elevator.
Jason trotted alongside and kept glancing back to see if they were being followed.
A minute later they were exiting the building into the hospital’s car park.
‘Which way?’ Trish said.
Jason looked around and then pointed left. ‘There, I parked it at the back.’
They moved forward again and Sarah looked up at the hazy light from the sun, which penetrated the thinning dust cloud. It looked like a perpetual dawn.
‘That’s it?’ Trish said. ‘That’s not a car; it’s a lawnmower on wheels!’
‘Who cares, get in.’ Jason dumped the rucksacks and water in the boot and then helped Trish get Sarah into the passenger seat.
A shout from behind made them look round. The nurse they’d spoken to before ran towards them, with two security guards in close attendance.
Jason slammed Sarah’s door. ‘Get in!’ he said, and ran round to jump in the driver’s seat.
Trish didn’t need telling twice; she leapt into the back seat as Jason revved up the gasoline engine and then floored the accelerator. The car lurched forward and the nurse jumped out of the way as they sped out into the city streets and the freedom beyond.
Chapter Eighty-One
Washington D.C., USA
Over a year had passed since the asteroid AG5 impacted the Earth off the South African coastline and yet in that time, as human civilisation and the global ecosystem hovered on the brink of collapse, the impact winter’s lifespan had fallen short of predictions. Even now the sun’s rays beat down through hazy skies, penetrating the remnants of the once dense veil of particulates that had engulfed the planet and, not for the first time, Malcolm Joiner cursed the essence of time. The GMRC Intelligence Director gazed down at Capitol Hill and the fluttering banners of the Stars and Stripes as his black helicopter flew over the country’s seat of power. Before and behind, similar twin-rotor aircraft shadowed their route while a host of military gunships patrolled their flight path’s borders with unerring precision. With the world returning to a semblance of normality Joiner knew transition to the underground bases would prove more difficult. Under the cover of perpetual darkness, the final protocols would have been harder to detect by those left on the surface, but as it was, light had a tendency to expose that which the Global Meteor Response Council sought to conceal, an unfortunate trend Joiner could attest to during his many years in power. He pushed such thoughts from his mind. The GMRC would continue to execute its directives with or without his input. He had bigger problems to attend to – far bigger problems.
It had been two months since his ascension to the post of self-aware Committee member and it was also two months since he’d learned of the device in his head, primed to kill at a moment’s notice. So far he’d heard nothing from the disembodied voice that had promised to make his life a misery, which was both as surprising as it was ominous. Strangely, Joiner had grown used to having his life hang in the balance. At first he’d been unable to sleep. Night after night he’d lain awake fretting over the possibility his life could be snuffed out at the whim of his enemies, but gradually he’d grown used to the prospect. He had even begun to use it to his advantage, harnessing the sense of urgency to focus his mind, and step by step, day by day, he’d mastered his suffering.
Apart from his woes, life in Sanctuary had returned to normal once the dome’s sunlight generators had resumed function. Weather patterns had been reformed and the only problem now was that the dome was considered obsolete, as outside the massive structure the Anakim chamber and its incredible ceiling remained in a continual cycle of night and day. And added to this marvel of ancient design was the presence of weather systems that eclipsed those created inside the USSB. Great storms and tranquil calms flooded through Sanctuary’s ancient halls, and many engineers and scientists questioned the dome’s relevance in this new era of underground survival. Some even suggested dismantling the human structure in favour of the Anakim. Even Joiner had to admit, despite his continued distractions, that those people had a point. But the powers that be, which meant the military fraternity and their hidden puppet masters, the Committee, decided that it was still too soon to defer to a technology over which they had no control, and so the status quo remained.
He glanced to his right where six bodyguards sat in silent sentry, guns primed and grey armour glinting. No longer did he rely on his reputation and exalted position to keep him safe; everywhere he went, they went. They were the best of the best, handpicked elite operatives from within the enormous wealth of human resource that the Intelligence Division could draw upon. And it didn’t stop at a half dozen men, his vast retinue now made the U.S. President’s look like amateur hour. Joiner was not about to let lightning strike a third time. That someone had even dared attempt to abduct him had been bad enough, that it had happened twice and with such ease was beyond the pale. And while one of the perpetrators, the Committee, had not shied away from disclosing its identity, the other had not been so forthcoming. What was more, that hidden threat continued to evade his attempts at hunting them down. It was as if they’d never existed.
So far the Committee remained interested in, but strangely unconcerned about, the whole affair. At first Joiner had wondered if they’d had a hand in the attack on his motorcade, a double bluff worthy of the name. But as much as he wanted to find an answer, he knew that possibility was slim to none. He’d decided, however, that there was no way they’d compromise their own position of superiority, unless, of course, it was someone working against the Committee from within.
A growing sense of frustration forced a noise of discontent from Joiner’s lips and one of the soldiers glanced in his direction before resuming their vigil.
The sound from the helicopter’s giant blades continued to pulse through the cabin and the flying procession veered left past the Egyptian-inspired obelisk that was the Washington Monument and away from The White House beyond it. Turning south, they sank lower to skim across the waters of the Washington Channel, the reflection of the black aircraft rippling on the surface before they regained altitude as they neared their destination.
Joiner pressed a button on his armrest and a transparent screen extended down from the ceiling. A holographic computer display blazed to life and a rotating image appeared depicting a man in Special Forces armour. Adjoining this 3D creation was a long and detailed service record that spooled down the screen behind. Above the text were the words:
COLONEL SAMSON
United States Army
Special Forces Subterranean Detachment
Brigade Commander
And across the moving image were three large, red letters:
M.I.A.
Joiner accessed the file and selected a field in the data’s admin list. A tick appeared in the relevant box and two new words blinked into existence:
Presumed Dead
Joiner hit a button on his keyboard and sealed the file into the GMRC archive.
That Samson had not returned from his mission was a welcome relief. That he’d failed in his duty was not. When the expeditions had returned to base some three weeks after they’d left, Joiner had received the news immediately from his agents stationed at the SED. Neither the pendant nor the mysterious orb had been retrieved. As for Sarah Morgan herself, she and her friends had fallen victim to a devastating blast that had destroyed what was said to be an archaeological wonder of the highest order. Joiner had seen Ophion’s subsequent report, such as it was. Large swathes had been redacted by the Committee’s overly exuberant administrator – whoever that might be. So what was the result of the massively expensive exercise? The mission had failed in its entirety – although one good thing had come of it: Samson’s demise. The colonel’s knowledge of the pendant, the Anakim, Sanctuary itself and the asteroids was beyond unacceptable. In the hands of a rational mind the information was bad enough, but in the hands of a lunatic, who knew what chaos could be caused.
But with one problem solved another emerged. And with the pendant gone, so had the Committee’s chances of furthering their mastery of Anakim technology. Joiner’s summons to Tower Central had been swift and his dressing down complete. He had, of course, fought his corner with vigour. He had no love for the people who’d implanted the device in his head. And yet despite the failure, his position within the organisation’s secret ranks served one useful purpose, it kept him alive. And as Selene Dubois had so eloquently put it, such a privilege was an opportunity ripe for redemption.
The memory of their meeting reminded Joiner of his surprise when he’d learnt that Richard Goodwin and his Darklight mercenaries were alive and well, scratching out an existence in the hidden depths. He’d presumed, like many others, that the ousted director of Steadfast and his merry band had long since succumbed to the unforgiving landscape that was Sanctuary Proper. How they’d survived for so long was a mystery, but whatever the method, they continued to pose a threat to Joiner, the Committee and the USSB itself. They would, at some point, have to be dealt with. If nothing else, the Committee was keen to investigate the massive underground city that Goodwin now called home. And whatever Joiner might have been told, or not as the case may be, he knew that whatever had caused Sanctuary’s ceiling to activate most likely originated from that location. And if he was to determine the true source, as the Committee desired, he would at some point need to find out more, much more.
Inevitably, Joiner’s thoughts returned to the most pressing matter that required his attention. If he was to regain control of his life he needed help, and that meant he needed someone he could rely on and trust. It had been some time before he’d even considered asking the question that needed to be asked, but when it had come and the answer had been yes, then he knew what he had to do. Most would have not even considered the course of action he was about to undertake. They would say when your bridges were burnt, that was it, there was no going back, but Joiner knew what it took to convince a person even when everything was stacked against him. And this time was no different … at least, that was his hope.
A red light flashed on a communication headset that hung from the ceiling and Joiner powered off the computer and placed one of the headphones to his ear.
‘Sir, we’ve reached our destination,’ said the pilot.
‘And you’re telling me this, why?’ Joiner said, irritated. ‘Set us down.’
‘That’s the problem, sir, there seems to be a game in progress.’
Joiner peered out of his window to see a crowded stadium below and forty thousand pairs of eyes staring up at the helicopters that now circled the skies above. Nationals Park baseball stadium was home to a Major League Baseball franchise, the Washington Nationals. Joiner hadn’t considered the facility might have been in use. Why would he? He went where he wanted and did what he liked.
The pitcher and the rest of the players stared up at the intrusion; many had the audacity to wave them away and a couple produced obscene gestures, one of them being the coach.
Joiner gave a sniff of disinterest and put the microphone back to his mouth. ‘They’ll move.’
‘Sir?’
‘You heard me, pilot.’ Joiner hung the headset back on its hook and turned to his subordinate. ‘Lock it down.’
The man nodded and gave the order to jam all communications. A second later all local transmissions failed and worldwide TV audiences suddenly experienced a ubiquitous on-screen message that read: ‘No signal.’
The roar of the helicopter’s jet engines increased and the baseball players scattered for cover, much to Joiner’s satisfaction.
His helicopter landed on the field soon after, with five more craft landing in quick succession.
Joiner’s door slid open and he stepped out of his GMRC transport and down onto the specially cultivated grass of the pitch.
Armed GMRC soldiers fanned out before him while the U.S. Army gunships continued to patrol the airspace above.
As the noise from his
landed aircraft died down, Joiner could hear catcalls and boos ringing out around the stadium. Like I care, he thought and flipped down his sunshades, these idiots will all be ash and bone within the year. He strode forward with his armed escort as protection and made his way up to the stands, where his men cleared a way through those gathered with brutal efficiency. The crowd turned ugly, bottles were thrown, and Joiner ducked as one whistled past his head.
Joiner gestured to his closest agent. ‘Show these peasants some manners.’
The operative gave a nod, cocked his weapon and fired a shot into the air. More gunshots rang out as Joiner’s soldiers sent people scrambling back in panic.
Joiner surveyed the scene and saw that his heavy-handed tactics had also served to isolate the man he sought. He moved towards the lone person sitting still in a sea of rapidly emptying seats.
A moment later Joiner eased himself down onto one of the chairs and sat staring out at his helicopters, which adorned the field of play.
The man next to him stayed silent and Joiner decided to speak first.
‘You’re probably asking yourself why I’m here.’
There was no response.
‘I’m putting together a special taskforce,’ Joiner said, undeterred. ‘I need you to lead it. It’ll mean longer hours; triple your previous pay and a slew of benefits you wouldn’t believe.’
Silence ensued and both men remained looking straight ahead as the uncomfortable atmosphere increased.
‘We both know retirement isn’t for men like us,’ Joiner said, ‘we live to work, to make things happen, to make a difference.’ He gestured at the milling baseball fans. ‘We aren’t built to live amongst the herd, to play by the rules. Come back into the fold and your life will mean something again.’ Joiner glanced left. ‘Accept my offer and I guarantee you’ll be shaping not just the future of our country, but of the whole world.’
Ancient Origins: Books 4 - 6 (Ancient Origins Boxset Book 2) Page 36
