Hearts racing, they looked into each others’ eyes.
Chris touched her cheek. ‘I love you.’
Angela smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘I know.’
The sound of a police communication echoed up to them from below: ‘Foyer clear, building security reactivated.’
The building’s lights blazed on and Angela jumped up and ran back the way they’d come, with Chris close on her heels.
The pair slammed into a pair of locked doors and someone shouted from behind, ‘There they are!’
Angela whirled round. A uniformed police officer approached, his sidearm trained on his prey.
The game was up.
♦
‘Where are they?’
‘In there.’ The police officer pointed at an adjoining room.
The man in the black suit removed his dark glasses. ‘Good. You’re relieved, this is a GMRC matter now, understand?’
The officer looked past him at the grey-clad forms of a dozen GMRC soldiers, their armour and rifles glinting under the lights. He nodded.
‘Do you have the storage device?’
The policeman handed it over.
‘Have you spoken to the intruders?’
‘No, sir. They only told me their names.’
‘So you have spoken to them.’
The officer hesitated. ‘Yes, but they haven’t said anything else.’ He glanced at the soldiers again and then back to the man before him. ‘You’re with the I.D., then?’
The man in the suit held his gaze. ‘I am.’
‘GMRC Intelligence Division, I heard they’re trying to get you disbanded.’
The intelligence agent didn’t reply. It didn’t matter if they were disbanded or not, not to him, anyway; being a CIA operative as well, his position of authority was secure.
He turned his back on the policeman and entered the room to find a man and woman sitting at a desk, their hands bound with standard issue handcuffs.
The agent glanced to his right at a computer screen, which displayed the final messages between the collaborators.
He looked back at his captives and held up the drive to show them, before dropping it on the floor. Holding the woman’s gaze, he stamped on the device, once, twice, three times, until the green liquid inside oozed out over the carpet tiles.
‘Anything you want to say?’ The intelligence agent looked from one to the other. ‘No? We know what information you have, or thought you had. You might as well speak your mind, as no one else will ever hear it. This might be your only chance.’
‘We found it,’ the woman said. ‘We found out what you’ve been hiding.’
‘And that is?’ the agent said.
‘We saw the telemetry. We saw the images from the observatories controlled by the GMRC all over the world. We have proof, undeniable proof.’
The agent glanced down at the now empty casing of the liquid data drive. ‘You mean you had proof.’
‘We uploaded it,’ said the man, ‘it’s only a matter of time before everyone knows the truth.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ The agent turned his attention to the woman’s partner. ‘And the truth? Why are you people so obsessed with the truth?’
The woman shook her head in disbelief. ‘Are you insane? We have to tell the world what we know!’
The agent’s expression turned puzzled. ‘We do? Why?’
His question dumbfounded her for a moment and then she stood up, her expression beseeching. ‘Because millions – billions – will die.’
‘Yes,’ – the agent withdrew his sidearm, pointed it at the man and shot him in the head – ‘they will.’
The woman screamed in horror before the agent fired again.
The sound of a second body falling to the floor was followed by silence.
The intelligence agent walked up to his two victims and fired off another two rounds into each to make sure of his handiwork.
The sound of more gunshots outside the room mirrored those just heard within. The agent, unconcerned, left the room to move back into the corridor, where the police officer lay unmoving on the floor, a pool of his blood spreading across the tiled surface like red treacle.
Further away, two of his colleagues had also been despatched by the armoured GMRC soldiers, who remained sentry-like in their positions.
‘Wait here until this is cleaned up,’ the agent said to one of the soldiers.
‘Yes, sir.’
The man returned to the room where he’d killed the two intruders and angled the computer screen to better read what it said.
He shook his head at the naivety of the conversation before noticing a very weak wireless connection was still live. He frowned, looked behind to make sure no one was looking, and then typed a message and hit return: Who is this?
Nothing happened for a moment, then he received a response.
That would be telling, Agent Myers _
Myers felt his heartbeat quicken and he looked around for signs of hidden cameras. The light from the GMRC drone outside continued to stream in through the window, its turbines a muted hum against an otherwise silent room. Agent Myers steadied himself before replying: Your friends are dead. Soon you will be, too – Myers paused and then entered three more letters – Bic.
Perhaps, agent, but you should know...
Myers waited for the hacker to continue, but when he failed to do so, he typed another message out of morbid curiosity: Should know what?
...that the game always remains _
Chapter Ninety
May, 2042, Shanghai, China.
GMRC
Eastern Hemisphere Headquarters.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, and honoured members of the Directorate. The final stage in our undertaking has begun. Decades of work, billions of man hours and trillions upon trillions of dollars have led us to the cusp of a new world, a world not on the surface of this planet, but beneath it. Hidden from view, the forty-four subterranean bases around the globe will allow our species to thrive and rebuild that which will be destroyed.
‘As predicted, the next asteroids, arriving within the year, have remained on their unerring course, and it is up to us to ensure the final transition of sovereign governments and relevant personnel from the surface to below ground proceeds without hindrance.
‘All that remains now is for the Directorate to fulfil their final duty before they relocate to their chosen underground facility, thus signalling the beginning of the end for an uninterrupted era of humanity that has endured since its birth.’ The speaker, also known as the Response Council’s Chief Chair, motioned to the men and women closest to him.
Dagmar Sorensen, the Global Meteor Response Council’s R&D director, stood up and felt his chest tighten. He coughed, took a desperate breath and then coughed again, the wheezing sound crackling like a death rattle through his body. He daubed at his mouth with a handkerchief. The white cloth came away bloodied. He stared at the red stain, contemplating his declining health and his many ongoing projects to prolong his miserable life. Finding no immediate relief from his inner torment, he surveyed the giant council chamber; it mirrored its sister building in New York, which housed the GMRC’s headquarters in the western hemisphere.
Behind him, thousands of delegates from around the world populated the massive room’s row upon circular row of seating, which banked up towards the domed ceiling at its distant outer wall. Consisting of renowned scientists, and military and political leaders, including many of the world’s finest minds, these international elites waited to witness the GMRC realising its ultimate goal. Alongside Dagmar, encircling a raised dais sprouting from the flat arena at the chamber’s centre, sat the other eleven members of the Council’s Directorate. Twelve men and women who between them wielded power few had ever known. Of course, they were each answerable to those around them, along with various oversight committees and independent bodies set up by nations around the world. However, despite those prying eyes, Dagmar had found ways to enjoy his authority a
nd pursue goals he could previously only have dreamt of.
He felt the eyes of another upon him and turned his head to meet the steely gaze of a man who shared Dagmar’s freedoms. Malcolm Joiner, the GMRC’s feared intelligence director, stared at Dagmar for a moment, his expression unreadable behind his glasses.
As Joiner looked away again, Dagmar wondered when the intelligence director would seek revenge for the implant Dagmar had so skilfully embedded in his brain, against his will. The order for the impromptu operation after Joiner had been unexpectedly knocked unconscious some months before had come on the orders of the Committee, a secret organisation that saw themselves as the power behind the GMRC. And from what Dagmar knew, their self-bestowed accolade was far from fantasy, as not only was Dagmar beholden to them, so was the majority of the GMRC Directorate, including Malcolm Joiner.
He will choose his moment with care, Dagmar thought. Except when he comes to make an attempt on my life, he will experience a pain like no other. A sensation of pleasure rippled through his dying body. I’m not dead yet, Dagmar told himself, there is still time.
♦
Malcolm Joiner resisted the temptation to look back at Dagmar Sorensen who, if anything, looked even closer to death than the last time Joiner had seen him. Not for the first time he prayed that the sallow-faced Sorensen wouldn’t die. I have a score to settle first, Joiner thought, his rage suppressed within like a chained beast.
‘Director, if you please.’
Joiner looked up at the Chief Chair, who pointed to a holographic screen which rose out of the floor a few feet away and stopped at waist height. Either side of Joiner, around the circular dais, eleven more screens presented themselves to the members of the Directorate.
Off to Joiner’s right, Dagmar Sorensen shuffled forward with the help of his personal aide, who supported his tottering steps.
Joiner, too, stepped forward, grasped the edge of the transparent screen and waited as the room darkened and images of the Directorate, now under floodlights, displayed on large screens throughout the auditorium for the rest of the international assembly to watch.
A message appeared on the display before him.
GMRC DIRECTORATE
Position: INTELLIGENCE DIRECTOR
Name: MALCOLM JOINER
Clearance Level: LEVEL 10 ALPHA
Code authentication commences in:
3 ... 2 ... 1 ... seconds
CODE IN:
A numerical keypad resolved itself in the air before him and Joiner entered his personal access code.
He felt an unusual sense of anxiety creep up through his senses. The feeling confused him as he rarely felt anything at all. Is this how the weak experience life? he wondered, Do they really feel like this all the time? He knew it was so, but found it hard to believe someone would let themselves be ruled by such feeble responses. He rammed his unease back down deep inside and considered the gravity of the situation that had produced it. The surface world was ending. All that he once knew would be gone: the cities, the forests, the animals. No more sky, stars or moon. Below ground only simulations would persist, while the Earth above suffered an eternal night, eternal death. Soon the carefully choreographed withdrawal would peak before the storm. And it was his work, his power that would seal the fate of those left behind. He was in total control, and that was just the way he liked it.
‘Director Cilic,’ said the GMRC’s Chief Chair, ‘confirm and lock in.’
The director of the Population Control Division reached out and placed his hand on the console before him. The scanner read the man’s prints, his heart’s unique rhythmic beat and analysed his DNA. A green light switched on before him and his holographic display spiralled open from the centre to reveal a large red lever.
‘I, GMRC Population Control Director,’ he said, his voice broadcast throughout the council chamber, ‘nominated by my peers around the world, hereby sanction The Tenth Protocol.’ He pulled the lever down towards him with a clunk.
Above the Directorate’s raised dais a circle of twelve red lights activated, and a second after that, one switched to green.
The same process was followed by each member of the Directorate, and soon it was Dagmar Sorensen’s turn to fulfil his duty.
‘I, GMRC Research and Development Director,’ Sorensen said in his rasping voice, ‘nominated by my peers around the world, hereby sanction The Tenth Protocol.’ With his assistant’s help, Dagmar engaged the levered mechanism.
With the R&D director’s procedure over, it was left to Joiner to complete the process that had been decades in the making. So it comes down to this, Joiner thought, it comes down to me. And why shouldn’t it? said his inner voice, I above all others deserve this honour. He looked around at those assembled. All eyes rested on him. He was the centre of the world: the controller of a species. It was his action that condemned billions to their death. The air all but crackled with the intensity of the moment, the hush – the tension – palpable. He reached out and placed his hand on the display. A tingling sensation swept beneath his hand as the relevant tests confirmed his nature, and then the screen opened up to present the lever inside. He grasped the handle and glanced up at the eleven green lights above and then spoke the required words. ‘I, GMRC Intelligence Director, nominated by my peers around the world, hereby sanction The Tenth Protocol.’ Joiner’s fingers tightened around the lever as he pulled it down. The metallic clunk, as it locked into place, sealed humanity’s fate and Joiner spoke again. ‘And so it begins.’
The last red light blinked out, to be replaced by a bright green glow.
The lights of the central dais dimmed and a computer simulated voice echoed throughout the auditorium:
Thank you, Directors
Inputs received and verified
Authorisation complete
Initiating unlocking procedures...
A map of the world’s subterranean bases appeared above, and a number projected onto the screens counted up as each base came online, until the number forty-four flashed once, and the artificial intelligence spoke again:
Subterranean systems online
The Tenth Protocol is now...
...twenty per cent activated
A partially filled red power bar on the large screens towering above Joiner’s head pulsed brighter as it mirrored the percentage increase, the visual indicator creeping slowly upwards towards completion, its image replicated throughout the council chamber on holographic displays and select GMRC stations around the world.
The A.I.’s voice echoed out once more:
Failsafes bypassed
International Sanctions verified
The Tenth Protocol is now...
...fifty per cent activated
A secure connection to each of the forty-four subterranean facilities appeared, and one by one the base directors confirmed that their automated systems synchronised with those in Shanghai.
‘This is United States Subterranean Base Washington,’ said a man in a white shirt, and tie, ‘all systems verified and online.’
‘United States Subterranean Base New York,’ said another man, ‘our systems are verified and online.’
‘Independent European Union Subterranean Base Great Britain, we are verified and online.’
After a multitude of similar confirmations, some of which overlapped, a Chinese woman stepped forward, her face filling the frame of the final graphics window inside the council chamber. ‘Verified and online, People’s Republic of China Subterranean Base Beijing.’
With the final base confirmed, the procedure continued and the artificial intelligence resumed its narrative:
The Tenth Protocol is now...
...eighty per cent activated
Final measures and resources confirmed
Surface facilities primed
All procedures unlocked
Bases armed and ready for incoming citizens
The red power bar turned from red to green and flashed on and off as the word ‘UNLOC
KED’ was displayed above it in ten-foot-high lettering. The voice spoke again:
One hundred per cent confirmed
The Tenth Protocol is now...
...fully activated
Far beneath the Earth’s surface, all around the world, the forty-four Command Centres received the incoming signal. Surface evacuation was primed. The final countdown had begun.
Chapter Ninety-One
‘Good morning from ninety-five point six, Golden State Radio streaming live from Sacramento, California, the home for all you music lovers out there. We have clear blue skies and the forecast is a scorching one hundred degrees in the shade. To all our fair-skinned listeners, you better cover up if you’re braving the sun, it’s gonna be a hot one!
‘This next song is going out to Lauren and Chrissy, stuck in a jam on I-580 heading into San Francisco. Some things never change. This one is for you girls…’
The sound of music filled the airwaves, mingling with the honking of horns as heat haze shimmered off the interstate highway that headed into the iconic coastal city. To the left of the highway, a queue of people stretched off into the distance along University Avenue towards the city of Berkeley. And every hundred yards along this line of hot, tired souls, was a sign that read:
WATER RATION STATION
STAY IN LINE
Each sign gave an estimated wait time in hours, many of which were in double figures.
Ancient Origins: Books 4 - 6 (Ancient Origins Boxset Book 2) Page 45
