Attack at Dead Man's Bay

by Paul Adam

  They took a few more minutes to recover, then they stood up and went to the door. It was locked. Max peered through the keyhole. Nothing beyond except blackness. The lock mechanism, like the door, was old and rusty. He could see immediately that he wouldn’t be able to pick it, not with just a piece of wire.

  ‘We’ll have to use the crowbar,’ he said.

  Dmitri took the tool out of his rucksack and forced open the door. The lock broke with a crack that echoed loudly around the mine shaft and they paused, looking at each other, both thinking the same thing: what if someone in the bunker had heard the noise? Dmitri raised his rifle to his shoulder and nodded at Max, who pulled back the door and stepped rapidly out of the way.

  The room inside was in darkness. Max lit it up with the torch and saw piles of rubble and rotten timbers on the floor, walls eaten away by decay. It was a disappointing sight. Had they got it wrong about the bunker? The place seemed derelict. On this evidence, it didn’t look as if it had been used in years.

  Dmitri lowered his rifle and they walked into the room. Max felt the temperature change at once. He’d expected it to be cold, like the mine shaft, but it was noticeably warmer. Dmitri felt it too.

  ‘There’s heating down here,’ he said.

  Max picked his way through the piles of rubble to another rusty door at the far side of the room. Running up the wall in the corner near the door was an enormous metal pipe, a good half metre in diameter, that radiated heat and gave off a low humming noise.

  ‘That’s the hot water being piped up from underground,’ Dmitri said.

  Max crouched down to look through the keyhole in the door and saw a faint glimmer of light on the other side. He straightened up, feeling a buzz of excitement. Heating, lights – there was definitely something going on down here.

  They used the crowbar again to break the lock on the door, and waited half a minute before they pulled it open. There was a corridor outside, illuminated only by dim emergency lights. The floor and walls were bare concrete, the surfaces grimy and stained with damp and black mould. It was warmer still here and there were grilles in the ceiling that looked like air-conditioning vents. There was absolutely no doubt about it now: the bunker was back in use.

  They moved cautiously along the corridor and round a corner into a more brightly lit area. It seemed deserted – no sign, or sound, of people. The walls and floors were rough concrete here too, and despite the air conditioning, there was a damp musty smell. The place had been cleaned up, a few cosmetic improvements made, but the years of neglect were still apparent. Max tried a door on his left, easing it open a couple of centimetres, seeing darkness inside, then stepping through, Dmitri right behind him.

  Max clicked on the light and gave a gasp of shock. There was nothing cosmetic about the changes to this part of the bunker. He was standing in what looked like a brand-new laboratory. There were stainless steel workbenches around the walls, lots of computer terminals and complicated-looking machinery, and in the centre of the room was something that sent a shiver down his spine: a high-tech chair, like a dentist’s chair, with a headrest and leather straps on the arms. A chair identical to the ones he’d seen in the laboratory on Shadow Island in which prisoners had been tied to be injected with Episuderon.

  ‘What is this room?’ Dmitri asked.

  ‘It’s where the brainwashing takes place,’ Max replied quietly.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I’ve seen something very like it before.’

  Max was shaken by the contents of the room. It brought back vivid, disturbing memories of Shadow Island; of the prisoner he’d seen being drugged – the man he now knew to have been the Kurdish journalist, Arhat Zebari; of finding Consuela and Chris strapped to similar chairs and rescuing them just in time. He licked dry lips and swallowed, picturing his father being drugged and interrogated here.

  ‘My father was killed in a room like this?’ Dmitri said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Max turned to look at him. Dmitri’s mouth was set tight, his eyes burning with anger. ‘If there are prisoners here, we have to get them out,’ he said. ‘Get them out now.’

  He spun round to leave, but Max put a restraining hand on his arm.

  ‘We have to be careful,’ he said. ‘What about the guards?’

  Dmitri slapped the stock of his rifle. ‘I’ll take care of the guards.’

  Max stared at him. ‘You’d shoot them?’

  ‘You think they won’t try to shoot us?’ Dmitri retorted. ‘Clark’s men have tried to kill you before, you told me so. They’ve murdered my father. Who knows, they might have murdered your father too. And you’re worried I might shoot them in self defence? Wake up, Max. It’s them, or us.’

  Max kept staring at him, realizing that Dmitri was right. There was no room for moral scruples here. Not if they wanted to come out of this alive. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘But how do we get the prisoners out. What do we do with them then? We’re in Kamchatka, in a mine owned and controlled by Julius Clark.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dmitri said. ‘What about stealing a truck, heading inland to the main road?’

  ‘But we’ll still be in Kamchatka,’ Max said. ‘We have to get out of the country.’ He paused. ‘What about the Reunion Star? Do you know anything about it?’

  ‘I’ve met some of the crew. They’re mostly Americans.’

  ‘Clark’s men? Does he own the ship?’

  ‘No, he charters it. The crew could help us.’

  ‘Will the ship still be here?’

  Dmitri nodded. ‘It always takes at least twenty-four hours to load it. You think we can get the prisoners to the port and escape by sea?’

  ‘You got a better idea?’

  Dmitri thought for a moment, then shook his head.

  ‘Then let’s get moving,’ Max said. ‘We’re wasting time.’

  They went back out into the corridor and crept softly along it until they reached a junction like a crossroads, four corridors branching off in different directions. Were there guards down here? Max wondered. If so, where were they? Maybe they stayed up on the surface – like the two men they’d seen earlier – watching the entrance.

  ‘Can you remember the layout of the bunker?’ he whispered to Dmitri.

  ‘It was different back then,’ Dmitri replied. ‘I don’t recognize any of this. They must’ve built new walls, divided it up.’

  Max glanced into the corridor to their right, saw doors evenly spaced along both sides. Offices, maybe, he thought. Then he noticed the small metal flaps in the doors, the light switches on the walls outside each room and remembered that the cells on Shadow Island had been just like that.

  ‘This way,’ he said.

  He stopped by the first door and pulled open the metal flap, saw the faint outline of a small darkened room. He flipped the light switch. A man was lying asleep on a bed at one side of the cell. He sat up, shielding his eyes, and squinted across at the door; he seemed disorientated, but he didn’t look as if he’d been drugged.

  ‘We’re friends,’ Max said.

  ‘Friends?’ The man stood up and walked over to the door. ‘What is this place? Why am I here? What’s going on?’ He spoke English with an Australian accent.

  ‘You been here long?’

  ‘A day, maybe two days. I’ve lost track of time.’

  ‘We’re going to get you out.’

  Max stepped back from the door. He could probably have picked the lock, but brute force was quicker. Dmitri jammed the crowbar into the gap and broke the door open. The man came out into the corridor. He was in his thirties and looked tough and competent, able to take care of himself.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Max asked.

  ‘Ken. Who are you guys?’

  ‘Later,’ Max said.

  He went to the next cell, turned the light on and looked through the flap. Another man was inside, lying on a bed. Dmitri forced open the door and they went in. The man moaned and rolled over restlessly. Max shook him
awake, clamping a hand over his mouth to stop him crying out.

  ‘We’re friends,’ he repeated. ‘If you want to get out of here, don’t make a sound.’

  The man sat up, staring at them with a dazed expression on his face, his eyes wide and unfocused. Max could tell he’d been drugged. They helped him up off the bed and although he was unsteady, he could walk unaided.

  Max and Dmitri left him with Ken and moved on to the remaining cells. Two were unoccupied, but in the others they found a further five men and one woman. The woman and three of the men seemed fit and mentally stable, but the other two men were in a bad way, only able to walk with help. One of them was completely out of his mind, drooling at the mouth and sweating and trembling as if he had a fever.

  But they didn’t find Max’s father. Max was distraught – he’d been so sure he was here.

  ‘My dad, where is he? There must be more cells somewhere,’ he said to Dmitri. ‘I have to find my dad.’ He was in a panic, suddenly at a loss as to what to do. ‘Where would they be, the other cells? You have to help me, Dmitri. I know my dad’s here.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Dmitri said evenly. ‘We have to deal with these people first.’ He nodded at the freed prisoners huddled together in the corridor. ‘What’re we going to do with them?’

  ‘Can you find the stairs? The ones you came down before?’

  ‘I think so. They were at the southeast corner of the bunker.’

  ‘Which way’s that?’

  Dmitri looked around, working out the compass points, calculating the route they’d taken through the bunker.

  ‘It’s over there,’ he pointed. ‘Along the corridor and to the left.’

  ‘Let’s get everyone there,’ Max said.

  They gathered the prisoners into a group and explained what they were going to do. How they had to hide in the stairwell while Max and Dmitri went off to look for Alexander Cassidy, and any other prisoners they’d missed. Then they’d get to the surface, find a way to divert the guards and steal one of the trucks to drive to the Reunion Star. The Australian, Ken, immediately took responsibility for the others, delegating the task of helping the weaker prisoners to the strongest men. Then they headed off down the corridor and round a corner into a small vestibule with a pair of double doors leading off it.

  ‘That’s it,’ Dmitri said.

  Max pushed open the doors and saw an iron staircase rising up through a concrete well. He gestured to the others, beckoning them in, helping them with the two men who couldn’t walk by themselves, then he and Dmitri went back out into the vestibule and returned to the crossroads, taking one of the other corridors to look for more cells.

  To look for Max’s dad.

  They passed through a lobby, which had a lift at one side, and paused at the opening to another corridor. Dmitri put an eye around the corner and pulled back quickly.

  Guard, he mouthed silently.

  Just one? Max mouthed back, holding up a finger. Dmitri nodded.

  Max took a look for himself. The guard was about five metres away, standing outside a door, his sub-machine gun pointing down at the floor; he looked bored, restless. Then he yawned and took a couple of paces along the corridor to stretch his legs. Max ducked back out of sight. He put his mouth to Dmitri’s ear and whispered, ‘He’s coming this way. What do we do?’

  Dmitri whispered back, ‘Leave it to me.’

  He gripped his rifle across his chest, stepped to the corner and waited, Max sheltering behind him. They heard the guard’s footsteps coming nearer. He was walking slowly, his boots scraping on the lino. As his body drew level with the corner, he was staring straight ahead, completely off guard.

  Dmitri lunged forward and hit the man hard on the side of the head with the butt of his rifle. The guard passed out and tumbled over. Dmitri darted forward, managing to catch the sub-machine gun before it could clatter to the floor, but the unconscious body still made a thud as it landed. Max and Dmitri froze. Had anyone heard the noise? They waited a few seconds, then ran to the door the man had been guarding. Dmitri gave Max his rifle and kept hold of the sub-machine gun. Max pushed open the door and the two of them rushed in.

  The room was sparsely furnished, containing a table and two chairs and nothing else. On one of the chairs, his back half turned towards the door, was Julius Clark. On the other, his wrists strapped to the arms, was a grey-haired, frail-looking man with a gaunt face and hollow eyes. He glanced up as Max and Dmitri burst in.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ Max said, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’

  TWENTY

  JULIUS CLARK TWISTED ROUND in his seat and stared at the two boys, Dmitri first. Then he recognized Max and his jaw dropped open in shock. The colour drained from his face. ‘You …?’ he stammered. ‘But you’re …’

  He started to get to his feet, but Dmitri forced him back down with the barrel of the sub-machine gun.

  ‘Who’s this?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘Julius Clark,’ Max replied.

  Dmitri’s eyes opened wide, then his mouth tightened. ‘The boss himself. That’s a bit of luck.’

  Max turned to study his father. He looked weak and desperately ill, his body emaciated, his skin so pale that with his grey, almost white, hair he seemed like a ghost.

  ‘Is that really you, Max?’ Alexander Cassidy croaked feebly. He was staring at Max in utter disbelief.

  ‘It’s me, Dad,’ Max replied, distressed to see him in this state. ‘Are you all right?’

  The question came out automatically, but even as he asked it Max realized how stupid it was. Alexander Cassidy was clearly not all right. He was in a very bad way indeed. Max rounded furiously on Clark.

  ‘What’ve you done to him, you psycho?’

  Clark didn’t reply. He was still gaping incredulously at Max.

  Max turned back to his father. ‘Has he injected you with anything, Dad? A drug?’

  Alexander Cassidy nodded vaguely. ‘He … asked me … questions. Names … he wants names … the Cedar … Alliance.’ His voice petered out. Just those few words seemed to drain him.

  The anger welled up inside Max. He wanted to kill Clark for what he’d done to his father. But he controlled himself. His dad came first: he had to look after him, get him out of the bunker. Walking over to the chair, he bent down and unfastened the straps around his father’s wrists. The skin was red and sore where the leather had chafed.

  ‘Can you stand, Dad?’

  ‘I … think … so.’

  Max helped his father up from the chair. He felt terribly thin and fragile, his bones sticking out through his skin. He was breathing heavily from just that slight exertion.

  ‘You died,’ Clark said in bewilderment. ‘Off the Golden Gate Bridge. I had your rope sabotaged. I saw it on television – the crate smashing into the sea, the divers going down to look for you and finding nothing. How can you be here?’

  ‘It takes a lot more than that to kill me,’ Max replied. He was worrying about his dad, wondering how they were going to get him out in his present condition.

  Clark started to get up again, but Dmitri shoved the barrel of his sub-machine gun into the side of his head and he sat back down heavily. Behind his rimless spectacles, the tycoon’s icy blue eyes were frightened.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said to Dmitri.

  ‘You murdered my father,’ Dmitri said calmly. ‘Sergei Alekseev. You remember him?’

  ‘I’ve murdered no one,’ Clark blustered back. ‘That’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard of Sergei Alekseev.’

  ‘He was a good man, a good father. He was trying to protect the environment, to stop greedy people like you destroying the world for profit. And you murdered him.’ Dmitri put his sub-machine gun against Clark’s head again. ‘And now you’re going to pay for it.’

  ‘No!’ Max cried out.

  Dmitri’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  Max grabbed his arm. ‘Dmitri, no.’

  ‘He’s a diseased
animal,’ Dmitri said, his eyes never leaving Clark’s. ‘And diseased animals need to be put down.’

  ‘That’s not the way,’ Max said sharply. ‘We’re taking him with us.’

  ‘With us?’

  ‘He’s got to stand trial for what he’s done. Let the law deal with him.’

  ‘He killed my dad,’ Dmitri said. His voice was shaking with emotion, his teeth clenched together in a grimace of hatred. ‘Why shouldn’t I kill him?’

  ‘Because we’re not like him, that’s why,’ Max said. ‘Put the gun down, Dmitri. Think about it. Is this what your father would have wanted? His son to turn into a killer in a foolish act of revenge? Yes, you’re right, Clark’s filthy vermin, but don’t soil your hands on him. You’re better than that.’

  Dmitri didn’t move. He pushed the gun barrel deep into the skin above Clark’s ear. Clark was trembling visibly. Max watched, holding his breath. Then, suddenly, Dmitri pulled back, keeping the gun trained on the tycoon. ‘Get up,’ he ordered.

  ‘Now, look,’ Clark said, ‘you’ve got this all wrong. I’ve never—’

  ‘Get up!’

  Clark rose unsteadily to his feet.

  ‘You try to escape and I will kill you. You understand?’ Dmitri said.

  Before Clark could reply, the air was shattered by the sudden deafening noise of an alarm bell. Max let go of his dad and stepped over to the door. He whipped it open and looked out. The unconscious guard was no longer lying in the corridor.

  ‘Quick, we have to get out,’ Max said. ‘You first, Dmitri. The guards will be on their way.’

  Dmitri pushed Clark in front of him, prodding him forward with the barrel of his gun, using the tycoon as a shield. Max slung Dmitri’s hunting rifle across his back, then put his arm around his father’s shoulders and helped him out of the room. Alexander was so weak he could barely walk. Max had to hold him up and half carry him along.

  They went down the corridor, heading towards the stairwell, but they couldn’t move very fast, not with Alexander struggling to even stand. He’d lost a lot of weight, but Max still found him a heavy burden.