by A. G. Riddle
She leaned back against the rail and was about to jump for it when the door on the other balcony slid open and David walked out. He drew back at the first sight of her, but then, after recognizing her, he walked to the rail. He smiled at her. “How romantic.” He held out his good arm. “Jump. I’ll pull you up. I owe you one.”
Kate glanced down. She could feel the sweat on her hands. David held his arm out over the rail. It was a few feet from her. She wanted to leap to him, but could she make it? If she fell, the guards would be on her and Keegan would know instantly. The deal would be off. Could David catch her? Could he get them out of this? She trusted him, believed in him, but…
She jumped, and he caught her and pulled her over the rail and into his arms. Then it all happened so fast, like a dream. He swept her into the room, not bothering to close the door. He tossed her on the bed and climbed on top of her. He pulled his shirt off and ran his hands through her hair. He kissed her on the mouth and pulled her shirt up, only lifting his face from hers long enough to pull the shirt past her face.
She had to tell him. Had to stop it. But she couldn’t resist. She wanted this. His touch was like an electric current, lighting up parts of her that had long ago gone dark. He was awakening something, like a supernatural force that overwhelmed her, blotting everything else out. She couldn’t think.
Her bra was off, and his pants were coming off.
It felt so good. The release. They could talk after.
Kate watched David’s chest rise and fall. It was a deep sleep. She made her decision.
She lay back on the bed, staring at the white plaster ceiling, deliberating, trying to understand what she was feeling. She felt… alive again, whole… safe, even despite Keegan’s threat. A part of her wanted to wake David, to tell him they were in danger and that they needed to get out of there. But what could he do? The bullet wounds in his leg and shoulder weren’t even half healed. She would only get him killed.
She put her clothes back on and quietly exited his room, slowly closing the door.
“I was clear.”
The voice frightened her. She turned—Keegan, standing behind her, wearing an expression of… sadness, disappointment, regret?
“I haven’t told him—”
“I doubt that—”
“It’s true.” Kate cracked the door, revealing David lying on his back, a sheet covering only the lower half of his body. Kate gently eased the door back. “We didn’t talk at all.” She looked down. “I was saying goodbye.”
Thirty minutes later, Kate watched the lights of Northern Africa out of the window as the plane flew south toward Antarctica.
106
“David, wake up.”
David opened his eyes. He was still naked, lying in the same place he’d fallen asleep. He felt the bed beside him. Empty. Cold. Kate had been gone for hours.
“David.” Howard Keegan stood over him.
David sat up. “What is it? What time is it?”
His former mentor handed him a note. “It’s around two A.M. We found this note in Kate’s room. She’s gone.”
David opened the note.
Dear David,
Don’t hate me. I have to try to make a trade for the children. I know you’re attacking Immari Headquarters this morning. I hope you’re successful. I know what they’ve taken from you.
Good luck,
~ Kate
David’s mind raced. Would Kate do this? Something felt wrong.
“We think she left several hours ago. I thought you should know. I’m sorry, David.” Howard walked to the door.
David tried to analyze the tactical situation, tried to be objective. What am I missing? His mind kept flashing to Kate; images of her from last night played through his mind like a slide show he couldn’t stop. She had been safe, and now she had delivered herself into the hands of his enemy. Why? It was his worst nightmare. Keegan gripped the door handle.
“Wait.” David eyed him, thinking. What option did he have? “I know where she went.”
Howard turned and looked at David skeptically.
“We were given a journal in Tibet.” David dressed as he spoke. “It contained a map of the tunnels below the Rock; there’s something down there, something they need.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. But I think she’s gone after it—to use it to trade. What’s our status?”
“Everyone’s suiting up. We’re almost ready for the assault.”
“I need to speak with them.”
Thirty minutes later, David was leading the final twenty-three Clocktower agents in the world through the tunnels under the Rock of Gibraltar. He had told the men that he had to go, that he had to find Kate, and that he might be delayed in joining the assault. His role was largely ceremonial anyway. His wounds, especially the leg wound, disqualified him from playing an active role in the assault. He would be at a desk watching the screens and readouts, coordinating the men during the operation.
His fellow agents had agreed unanimously: they would stay together, investigate the tunnels first, recover Kate, then resume the original plan. The contents of the chamber could offer some tactical advantage in the main operation.
They had anticipated little resistance at the warehouse, and they weren’t disappointed. The warehouses weren’t even guarded. Or locked, although they had been. The Clocktower team found a common combination lock, the kind used on high-school lockers, laying on the ground, snapped in half. Clearly Kate’s work. Apparently, Immari had abandoned the site a long time ago and regarded it as low value. The lack of security still made David suspicious.
The entrance to the tunnels was just as the journal described it—and in almost the same condition. A black tarp had been thrown off the opening, and the lights leading into the mine were on. Inside the tunnels, there was one change: an electric car system, like a monorail tram with single cars, had been added to provide swift, safe transport through the tunnels. Each car held two passengers, and the team piled into about a dozen cars, with Howard and David riding in the first car. After the dizzying spiral down into the mine, the tunnel straightened out and began forking. David hadn’t anticipated this; he had assumed the Immari would have closed any dead ends. The map in the journal was of the inside of the Atlantis structure; he had no idea which way to go at the forks. There was no choice. Howard began dividing their forces, and unfortunately, the rail lines kept forking until David and Howard rode alone, hopefully on the right track.
The plan was to rendezvous at the entrance in one hour. That would still leave time for the pre-dawn raid at Immari Gibraltar.
David stared straight ahead as the tunnel lights flew by in an endless monotony. What was he missing? Howard worked the car’s controls, managing their speed. Somewhere, far off in the distance, three faint, rapid-fire pops rang out. David looked over at Howard, and they shared a knowing glance. Howard slowed the car, and they waited for more sounds, hoping to discern the direction.
“We can reverse,” Howard said quietly.
They waited. The tunnels were quiet. What to do? The sound was clearly gunfire, but David wasn’t in fighting condition, and although Howard was in intelligence, he was a manager, not a soldier. Neither could offer any real resistance. In fact, they would probably be in the way.
“No, we go on,” David said.
Five minutes later, they heard another bout of gunfire, but they didn’t stop. Five minutes after that, they reached the room that opened onto the Atlantis structure. The steps lay in the center of the room, fully uncovered. To the right was the jagged opening the journal had described. David could also see the rest of the structure, but it was mostly smooth dark metal. Massive steel I-beams reached high overhead, holding the rock and sea at bay.
David looked up, studying the area above the stairs. There was a huge dome and a place where the structure’s overhang had been cut away from above.
“What is it?” Howard said.
“This is where they ex
tracted the Bell,” David said, almost to himself.
Howard walked to the stairs, put his foot on the first step, and looked back at David.
Without a word, David hobbled forward, moving up the stairs, leaning heavily on his cane. As he grimaced and climbed, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu engulfed him. The tunnel maker, Patrick Pierce, had also been lured down here under the guise of rescuing someone, only to be trapped himself. David crossed the threshold with Howard following closely. He stopped and studied his mentor’s eyes. Was he missing something? What could he do about it now?
Inside, the structure was illuminated with LED lights that ran along the floor and ceiling. The corridors were about eight feet tall—not cramped but not exactly spacious. They also weren’t square. The bottoms and tops of the corridors curved slightly, giving it an oval shape, except the curves formed in sharper angles. Overall, the halls felt like the corridors of a ship—a Star Trek ship.
David led Howard down the corridors, following the mental image he had formed of the map. Memorizing maps and codes was one of the quintessential tools of spycraft, and David was good at it.
The structure was incredible. Many of the doors to the rooms were open, and as they passed by, David saw a series of makeshift labs, like something you might see behind the glass of a museum, where curators carefully studied or restored historical artifacts. Apparently the Immari had dissected every inch of the structure in the past one hundred years.
It was surreal. David had only half-believed the tunnel-maker’s tale, had thought that perhaps it was just that—a tale. But here it was.
The false wall to the chamber was coming up—just around the next turn. As it came into view, David felt himself holding his breath. The chamber was… open.
Kate. Was she inside?
“Kate!” David called out. There was nothing to lose. Anyone inside could hear his cane clacking on the metal floor from a mile away, so they didn’t exactly have the element of surprise.
No answer.
Howard formed up behind him.
David crept to the edge of the chamber’s opening and peered inside. The room looked like some sort of command center. A bridge, with chairs dotted along smooth surfaces—computers? Something more advanced?
David moved into the room as carefully as he could. He pivoted around, leaning on his cane, scanning every inch of the room. “She’s not here,” he said. “But the journal, the story was true.”
Howard stepped inside the room and hit a switch behind him. The door to the room hissed closed, sliding from right to left. “Oh yes, it’s quite true.”
David studied him. “You’ve read it?” David wrapped his fingers around the gun tucked in his belt.
Howard’s face had changed. His usually mild expression was gone. He looked satisfied. Confident. “I’ve read it, yes. But just out of curiosity. I knew what it would say, because I was there. I saw it first-hand. I hired Patrick Pierce to find this place. I’m Mallory Craig.”
107
Immari Research Base Prism
East Antarctica
Kate sat on the small plastic bench and stared at the white walls. She was in some sort of lab or research facility, but she had no idea where. She rubbed her temples. God, she was so groggy. Somewhere over the ocean, a man had walked back into the cabin and offered her a bottle of water. She had declined, and he had proceeded to hold her down and cover her mouth with a white cloth, the type that promptly induced unconsciousness. What had she expected?
She stood and paced the room. There was a small slit in the white door, but the window revealed only the hallway outside and a few more doors like the one to her room.
One of the long walls of the room had a rectangular mirror, recessed a few inches into the wall. This was no doubt an observation room, similar to the ones in her lab in Jakarta, except infinitely more creepy. She stared at the mirror. Was someone in there, watching her right now?
Kate squared her body to the mirror and looked into it as if she could see the mysterious man behind it—her captor. “I did my part. I’m here. I want to see my children.”
A voice broke over a loudspeaker. It was muffled and computer-altered. “Tell us what you treated them with.”
Kate thought. She would have no leverage after she revealed what she knew. “I want to see them first, then you release them, and I’ll tell you.”
“You’re not in a position to negotiate, Kate.”
“I disagree. You need what I know. Now, you show me the children, or we’ve got nothing to talk about.”
Nothing happened for almost a minute, then on one side of the mirror, a video flickered to life. That part of the mirror must have been some sort of computer screen. The video showed the children, walking in a dark hallway. Kate stepped closer to the mirror, holding a hand out. Ahead of the children, a massive portal opened, revealing only darkness inside. The children walked through. The video paused with an image of the portal closing.
“You’ve read the tunnel-maker’s journal. You know about the structure in Gibraltar. There is a similar structure twenty times larger here. It’s been here, beneath two miles of ice, for countless thousands of years. The children are inside.”
The screen in the mirror switched to a close-up image of the children before they crossed the portal. It zoomed in on packs the children carried. There was a simple LED readout, the type you see on alarm clocks—a series of digital numbers. A countdown.
“The children are carrying nuclear warheads in those packs, Kate. They have less than thirty minutes left. We can deactivate them remotely, but you have to tell us what you did.”
Kate stepped back from the mirror. It was insanity. Who would do this to two children? She couldn’t trust them. She wouldn’t tell them. They would only hurt other children; she was sure of it. She had to think. “I need some time,” she mumbled.
The image of the packs disappeared from the mirror.
A few seconds passed, and the door swung open. A man wearing a long black trench coat stepped robotically into the room and…
Kate knew him.
How could it be? Flashes of expensive dinners, her laughing as he charmed her, a candle-filled apartment in San Francisco. And the day she told him she was pregnant—the last day she ever saw him… until now, here.
“You—” was all Kate could manage. She stepped back as he marched into the room. Kate felt her back hit the wall.
“Time to talk, Kate. And call me Dorian Sloane. Actually, let’s dispense with the aliases. It’s Dieter. Dieter Kane.”
108
Immari Tunnels
Gibraltar
David watched the man pace across the room, the man he had known as Howard Keegan, Clocktower Director, the man who now claimed to be Mallory Craig.
“You’re lying. Craig hired Pierce almost a hundred years ago.”
“That’s true, I did. And we’ve been looking for his journal almost as long. Pierce was an extremely clever man. We knew he sent the journal to the Immaru in ’38, but we weren’t sure it made it there. I was curious what he would say, how many secrets he would reveal. When you read it, weren’t you curious about the deal he made with us? Why he stayed, working for the Immari for almost twenty years after the Spanish flu killed his wife and unborn child? What did he call it? His ‘deal with the devil.’” The man laughed.
David slipped the gun out of his belt. He had to keep him talking, at least a bit longer. “I don’t see what that has to do with you.”
“Don’t you? Why do you think Pierce would have worked with us?”
“You would have killed him.”
“Yes, but he didn’t fear death. You read the journal’s end. He would have welcomed it, would have killed us all in a blaze of glory. We had taken everything from him, everything he loved. But his love for his child was more powerful than his hatred. As I said, Patrick Pierce was very clever. The second he emerged from the tube, he knew what they were. Hibernation tubes, suspension chambers. In that makesh
ift hospital in the warehouse above us, he made a deal. He would put Helena’s dead body in one tube, and Kane would put Dieter, his dying son, in another tube. Both men became obsessed with medical research. They dreamed of the day they could open the tubes and save their loved ones. Of course, Kane’s ideas were more radical, more racially charged. He dedicated himself to finding a way to survive the Bell. He took it to Germany, and… you already know about the experiments. We knew Pierce was working against us, planning something. In 1938, on the eve of Kane’s expedition, Kane had his storm troopers capture Pierce and place him in a tube.”
“Why not just kill him?”
“We would have liked to, but as I said, we knew he had written a journal, and that he was making other plans against us. We assumed the execution of those plans would be triggered upon his death, so we were in a tough position. Killing him was still too risky. Still, I laughed as Pierce fought with all his life until the guards incapacitated him and tossed him in the tube. Then, to my surprise and horror, Kane ordered the storm troopers to put me into another tube. He didn’t trust me, even after all my years of loyalty. Kane promised he would bring me back when he returned. He never dreamed he wouldn’t return, but of course he didn’t. We only found his sub a few weeks ago in Antarctica.
“Pierce and I were woken up in 1978, in a different world. Our organization, the Immari, was practically gone—only the shells of our corporations and certain overseas assets remained. The Second World War had decimated us. The Nazis had appropriated many of our assets, including the Bell. The Immari leadership, such as it was then, was desperate—desperate enough to bring back the old guys, the people who had built Immari International in the first place. At least they had that much sense. But of course they didn’t know all the history. Patrick Pierce and I were awoken at the same time, and we picked up almost exactly where we had left off. I set about rebuilding Immari, and Patrick resumed his role of thwarting me. I began by reviving the organization I founded, my division of Immari, the world’s first global intelligence organization. You’re familiar with it. Clocktower. The Immari intelligence branch.”
