Second Solace

by Robert Clark

  ‘Then let me settle your nerves,’ I retorted. ‘Al-Assad is dead. Has been for months. He died from the injuries he brought back with him from Iraq. Whatever he was going to build has been finished by Cage’s gang.’

  ‘That’s supposed to be good news?’ asked Whyte.

  ‘It is if you’ve been paying attention,’ I replied. ‘Do you understand how serious uranium and plutonium are?’

  ‘As a heart attack,’ said Miles.

  ‘Exactly. And have either of you ever seen a nuclear weapon in person?’

  Both men shook their heads.

  ‘Then congratu-fucking-lations to the both of you,’ I said. ‘Because I have, and I have a rudimentary understanding of how dangerous they are. To dumb it down for you two simpletons, a nuclear weapon utilises nuclear fission to create a massive explosion. Nuclear fission itself is the process of splitting the nucleus of an atom, which is normally done by bombarding it with a neutron to create an unstable isotope. Now tell me, how many of those words did you two understand?’

  ‘Don’t act like we’re idiots,’ replied Whyte, not answering the question.

  ‘Explaining it is one thing, but the process itself is infinitely more complex,’ I said, looking at the two ex-Federal Agents. ‘Understanding the theory behind it can take years at best. Every nuclear weapon ever created has been done so with some of humanity’s greatest minds at the helm, and do you want to guess how many of those geniuses have made their way to Second Solace?’

  Neither man answered.

  ‘None of them, judging by what I’ve seen over the last week,’ I said. ‘There isn’t a chance in hell that whatever they’ve been working on up there is nuclear. I’ve been in that bunker and I haven’t once seen anything that even indicated that it's a dangerous place to be. And think of the locale. If they cocked it up and set off a nuclear explosion under a mountain, imagine the damage that would bring down, not just on their happy little settlement, but everywhere in the goddamn state. It would spell the end of everything they’ve worked for because of one careless mistake. No matter how detailed Al-Assad’s instructions may be, it’s nothing compared to good old fashioned experience. Cage was a smart man. He wouldn’t have let them tinker on something if it could bring his dream crashing down.’

  ‘What do you mean, was a smart man?’ asked Whyte.

  ‘Maddox Cage is dead,’ I replied, not looking at him. ‘He died last night.’

  ‘I underestimated you, Stone,’ remarked Miles, clapping his hands together. ‘Maybe we did pick the right man for the job.’

  ‘And I owe you twenty bucks,’ jeered Whyte to his partner. ‘I thought our man would turn up empty handed.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him,’ I said. ‘That honour goes to his second in command, Cecilia Mendes.’

  ‘The convict?’ snorted Miles. ‘She’s his second?’

  ‘What was she convicted of?’ I asked.

  ‘She shot a teenager after a botched robbery,’ Whyte said. ‘The victim was the niece of that up and coming politician Andrew Parker. He went real hard and made an example of her. She was supposed to serve life. Ended up serving twenty five for good behaviour.’

  ‘Must have been some good behaviour to get her out fifteen years early,’ I said.

  ‘The best, considering she’ll have been up against the death penalty,’ said Whyte. ‘But this isn’t about her, I want to know about the bomb.’

  ‘What more is there to say?’ I said. ‘They don’t even have a single sign anywhere telling people to wear a hazmat suit. So whatever it is, it's not nuclear.’

  ‘Only problem is, there’s more than one kind of bomb they could have built up there,’ said Miles. ‘And not all of them require a Masters Degree in science to build.’

  ‘They aren’t building pipe bombs up there, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ I replied.

  ‘They didn’t need any bombs for 9/11,’ said Whyte, a hollow expression on his face. ‘So you’ll forgive us if we aren’t deterred by the size of their arsenal.’

  ‘The largest stone makes the biggest ripple, but the sharpest strikes the fish.’ I said.

  ‘What?’ asked Miles.

  ‘It’s just something Al-Assad said to Cage when he got here.’

  ‘Now how on earth do you know that?’ asked Whyte.

  I pulled out the cassettes from my bag and handed them over.

  ‘In case you needed evidence for this charade,’ I said. ‘There’s a couple dozen more hidden in a safe in Cage’s office as well.’

  ‘Well shit,’ smirked Whyte. ‘I think we might have what we need.’

  He looked at his partner, who shared a similar gleeful look.

  ‘You’ve hit the mother-lode, Jimmy my boy,’ said Miles, patting me on the arm.

  ‘Don’t call me Jimmy.’

  ‘And here I was thinking you weren't worth shit,’ laughed Whyte.

  ‘Easy on the kid, Whyte,’ chuckled Miles. ‘We still need him to guide the way forward.’

  ‘Whatever you want, count me out,’ I snapped. ‘I'm done with you two.’

  ‘James, this goes down two ways,’ said Whyte. ‘Either you help us then go off to spend your days in a prison cell, or you get a bullet in the head. It's that simple. No need to sugarcoat a shit sandwich.’

  And in a move that made me hate the two men a bit more, they clapped hands together in a high five.

  ‘You two really are the worst people I've ever met.’ I said.

  ‘You're no shining star yourself, Jimmy boy,’ said Miles. ‘But putting our differences aside, there is a woman up in those hills that needs our help. All of ours. And if what you say is on those tapes is true, then we have all the cause we need to go in, and not concern ourselves with the stacking body count.’

  ‘Three people are no match for them,’ I said. ‘They outnumber us at least twenty to one.’

  ‘We don't need to take all of them down, James,’ said Whyte with a condescending tone. ‘We're federal agents, after all. Unlike you, we can't be seen shooting women and children.’

  I took another swing at him. He dodged it.

  ‘You're a feisty one, aren't you,’ he teased.

  ‘And besides, you've made it in and out of that bunker how many times without getting shot?’ asked Miles. ‘If you can manage it, we all can together.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your bromance,’ I said. ‘Two is company. Three is a crowd.’

  ‘Come on now, James,’ said Whyte. ‘For Agent Noble, why don't you fix some of the wrongs you've made?’

  Both men smiled at me. Pristine teeth glistening, perfectly trimmed goatee flecked with flakes of snow.

  ‘What do you say, James?’ asked Miles. ‘The three musketeers, or a bullet in the brain?’

  Thirty-Two

  The Three Musketeers

  A cloudless sky gave way to a brisk, low sun, which hung just beneath the trees as we made our way north. The crisp, frozen snow made a satisfying crunch as my boots sank in a good few inches with every step. The two disgraced agents in close pursuit, literally following in my footsteps to preserve energy. Their winter coats hugged tightly to their torsos, keeping them warm and alert. I, on the other hand, was tired, angry and numb from the cold within minutes, which only made my approach to the place I'd hoped to leave behind for good, all the more tedious.

  It became quickly apparent that we were somewhere south of the main entrance to Second Solace. The high wall appeared through the trees, blocking our approach.

  ‘How do we get through?’ whispered Whyte behind me.

  ‘There's a gate off to the right if you want a more direct approach, and possibly a bullet wound or two,’ I said. ‘I'm happy to wait here and see how that fares you.’

  ‘How did you get past?’ asked Miles.

  ‘In a vehicle,’ I replied. ‘I never came out this way alone.’

  ‘Why don't we just use the cave route you came out of?’ asked Whyte.

  ‘Because that le
ads directly into the courthouse, and after last night, there's not a chance in hell you'll make it out of there alive.’

  ‘Then get thinking, genius,’ snapped Miles.

  I did exactly that. From my perimeter search shortly after my arrival, I knew just how impenetrable Second Solace was. With a circumference made up almost exclusively of high-rising rock walls or man-made defences, the only place left was the river cascading along to our left.

  ‘I have an idea,' I said, ‘but don't hold me to it.’

  ‘Always trying to pass the buck,’ sighed Whyte.

  I stuck a pale, frozen middle finger up at him and headed off west. The rush of the river was already intensely audible, and grew ever more deafening as we approached. Swathes of white, turbulent foam dashed and slapped against a ferocious current. The water looked glacial as it rushed by in a torrent of insurmountable fury. Years of relentless battery had hollowed out the embankment as the river turned steadily away, following the flow of the valley south. Miles inched closer to inspect. The look on his face was not ideal.

  ‘If we could get down there,’ he said, pointing at the slim stretch of dirt torn loose by the current. ‘We might be able to cross past the wall unseen.’

  Agent Whyte looked at me.

  ‘Ladies first,’ he said with a smirk.

  Which was more than fine with me. The unstable gangway would not last for long. The first person onto it was either going to make it across, or plunge into freezing water and meet their doom. Not exactly a painless death, but a quick one. The first person along had the best chances of it being the former, leaving the two bemused agents to deal with the shit end of the stick.

  With Miles proffering his hand to lower me down, I edged my way slowly to the edge. The drop was maybe five or six feet down, but the spot I had to land on was hardly a foot in depth.

  ‘This is a bad idea, James,’ said the Wolf, ever the prophet of useful information.

  Ignoring him, I hung my legs over the end. The ground sagged a little, but held. I worked around onto my stomach and took Miles by the hand. Then I lowered myself down.

  The current sounded like the roar of an engine, so close to my ears. Spray soaked my clothes and skin as my feet touched down on unpleasantly soft dirt. With my free hand, I grasped my fingers around the roots of a long dead tree, and steadied myself. As though on a tightrope high above the ground, I didn't look down. Once satisfied I wasn't going to fall in, Miles let go.

  ‘Off you go,’ he shouted over the din.

  I inched my foot to the left. Chunks of dirt broke free and tumbled backwards into the river. I tested the ground. It was secure. I pressed down with my foot. It held. I looked along and found more roots protruding from the mud and reached out for them. I gave them a tug. They didn't break loose.

  I committed to the move. With a stomach that felt like it consisted entirely of lead, I swung my body to the left. Nothing broke. Nothing plunged into the raging current. I was alive, for now.

  Above me, I saw Miles swing his legs over the side, and with the help of his partner, he lowered himself down beside me. He ignored my muted protests, or the slap on the leg I gave him as his foot nearly kicked me in the head. My opinion didn't matter, and I just hoped it wasn't at the cost of our lives.

  With haste, I found the next spot to stand on and tested my weight on it. The ground felt a little sturdier, but there were no branches to cling on to. Instead, I found a rock packed into the dirt and pulled it loose. It fell with a splash into the water, leaving behind an alcove large enough to jam my fingers inside. And as Miles landed by my side, I stepped away from him.

  The wall of Second Solace looked much taller from this angle. It rose high above me, the nearest post mere inches from my head. If the river corroded much more of the bank, it was in danger of collapsing all together. But that was not my concern.

  As I took another careful step to my left, I saw Whyte commit to the descent. He landed by his partner's side as I made it past the high-stretching wall and grabbed hold of a handful of dead roots. Wherein my role changed. I had no desire to hang around in such a precarious position for longer than necessary, but getting out would prove difficult. The bank was a little higher on the Second Solace side, maybe eight feet from unsafe footing to terra firma. And without something solid to grab hold of, I would have to make a literal leap of faith to climb up.

  To my right, Miles moved. At the point where roots were no longer an option, he didn't take hold of the recess I had crafted, instead opting to grip onto a jagged lump directly above him. I realised what it was a moment too late. The underside of the wooden post groaned as Miles committed his weight to it, and the surrounding ground broke away with ease. Whyte spotted it just in time, snatching hold of his partner's coat and heaving him out the way just as a mound of dirt, and a four-hundred pound post, smashed into the spot he had been forced to vacate. With a splash that soaked the three of us, the post hit the water and sunk under the surface.

  My eyes darted from the two agents, both of whom were wide-eyed and pale-faced with shock, to the ruined wall above us. The newly appointed end post swayed precariously as the surrounding ground suddenly became unstable. Miles made a move to progress, but I waved him back, eyes fixed on the situation above.

  Not because of the post. Because of the shouting.

  At least two voices could be heard over the rush of the river. Moments after I heard them, so did Miles and Whyte, who both retreated further back to more stable ground. I pinned myself closer to the embankment, praying no one would be able to spot me.

  ‘Shit,’ came a male voice from above that I didn't recognise. ‘Didn't I tell you this was bound to happen?'

  ‘Ain't no use bitching about it now,’ said another guy. ‘We need to get this secured on the goddamn double.’

  I spotted a hand above me grasp the protruding dirt inches from the top of my head and give it a wiggle.

  ‘Seems stable enough to me,’ said the first man.

  ‘You want to tell the boss we think it's stable?’ snapped the second guy. ‘Or do you want to do your job and get this shit fixed?’

  ‘Alright, alright. What should we do?’

  ‘You wait here. I'll go get some tools and see if we can pin these few posts together. That should sort it in the short term.’

  ‘What about the long term?’

  ‘It ain't my job to worry about that shit. Let Cecilia and the rest of them figure it out. Wait here, I'll be ten minutes.’

  ‘Why do I got to wait?’ snapped the first man.

  ‘Because if the whole thing falls in, I want to make sure it takes your dumb ass out with it,’ said the second man.

  He must have left, because a few seconds later, I heard the first man say, ‘asshole.’

  The ground beneath my feet felt dreadfully unstable. I could feel it squelch and loosen with every slight movement, and no matter how sturdy the roots I held onto felt, they wouldn't keep me from falling if the ground gave way. I looked over at Miles and Whyte. Miles was miming something. With care not to expose himself to the man above, he gestured with his free hand the act of plucking something above him, and pulling it down. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he wanted me to do.

  Slowly, and with great care, I leaned backwards so I could see the guy above. He was there. His back turned to me, watching his companion head off in search of tools. But his head was easily eight feet above mine, and the nearest point I had to cling on to him was the band of his jeans, which were six feet at best. Athletic as I may be, I couldn’t leap six feet into the air off of unstable ground to haul a guy backwards.

  I checked the surrounding dirt. No easily dislodged rocks in sight, but there was the outline of a root that weaved in and out near my stomach. I clawed at the dirt, breaking away enough to tug out the root. When there was enough to give myself purchase to lodge my foot through the gap, I readjusted my stance and took a deep breath. Three feet up for my boot, then it all came down to luck. I ignored the
glaring eyes of the two men to my right and tightened my grip on the roots. Breathe in. Breathe out. Then go.

  With both hands wrapped around the tree roots, I launched up off the bank and let go. My left boot found the root and dug in enough to continue my upward trajectory. Both hands were free and stretching rabidly up to find something to snatch hold of. A guard’s leg. A clump of long grass. Anything.

  They found neither. As soon as my head was clear of the surface, I saw the guard had shifted. No longer was he directly above me, but instead had moved closer to the dislodged post to investigate. His new position brought me launching up in his peripheral, and he spun round in utter shock as a figure rose up out of seemingly nowhere to attack. As I reached my pinnacle, he spun his rifle clumsily around, bringing it within my grasp. My hands wrapped around the barrel and heaved it back towards the raging torrent below.

  The guard let out a squeal and tried to counter my weight. His finger pressed down on the trigger, and a round of bullets exploded out of the barrel, and sliced into the river. But that was all the guard could do to defend himself. Without a solid stance, there was little to stop him going arse over tit directly into the glacial river. He hit the water with a splash just as graceful as the upended post, and was hauled away downstream before he could resurface.

  Using the grip on the barrel to stop me plunging backwards, I had let go just as the first bullet exited the weapon, just in time to flatten my torso down on the snow. With rabid desperation, I clawed my way up and rolled onto my side, free of the river and its deathly clutch, and stared up at the bright blue sky, panting like a dog.

  ‘Bravo,’ cheered Miles, who had pulled himself back up on the other side of the wall where he had descended. ‘I thought for sure you would screw that up.’

  I said nothing, exhausted and drained as the adrenaline began to subside. Miles helped Whyte back up, and together, they used the newly created gap to cross over the boundary. Their smugness was not disguised.

  ‘On your feet, soldier,’ said Whyte. ‘Someone is sure to have heard that. We’ve got to hustle.’