Lexie, page 7
Luka said, “The bodies look really well preserved.”
“Well, with no air and continuous subfreezing temperatures, rot didn’t have much of a chance.”
They passed a corpse with the back of its head blown away.
“What happened to him?”
“That was our first clue that things did not end peacefully on U-104.”
The drone made a circuit of the control room, then down a ladder where a body lay on its back with its throat gashed open. Farther along a narrow corridor, another in the same condition. And another. And another.
“All murdered?” Luka said.
“Certainly appears so. All the inner hatches are open, so are all the doors to the crew’s and officers’ quarters. Except one,” Gaios said, as the drone stopped before a closed door labeled with Hauptman Helmuth Werner, Wissenschaft.
Zina said, “Wissenschaft…what—?”
“Means ‘science,’” Luka said. “Probably the chief science officer—more likely the only science officer. I wonder if he managed to lock himself away from the carnage.”
“On the contrary,” Gaios said, “we suspect he was behind it.”
“Really? Why?”
“You’ll see.”
They resumed gliding, passing a room packed with corpse-filled bunk beds, and then past the generators and the diesel engines, over one corpse after another.
“This was pure slaughter,” Zina said. “It’s mind numbing.”
“Twenty-five bodies in all,” Gaios said, then tapped the tech on the shoulder. “Pause on that shelf as we pass.” The video froze. “Check out this shelf. See that camera? I’m something of a collector and that little beauty is a closed-up AGFA Billy Record eight-point-eight. And I’ll bet those little canisters lined up beside it contain rolls of exposed film. I want to get hold of those and have them developed ASAP.” Another tap on the tech’s shoulder. “Okay, jump to the later footage of the control room.”
As the screen filled with interference, Luka said, “That film could be extremely interesting. I’d really like to see what’s on it.”
“That makes two of us,” Gaios said. “Just looking at photos taken eighty-plus years ago will be fascinating, but we may also get a clue as to why someone turned that sub into an abattoir.”
“Control room coming up,” the tech said.
Gaios turned to Zina and Luka and said, “When the battery ran down on the first drone, we pulled it out and sent in another for a closer look at the bridge, mainly because we wondered how and why they escaped the slaughter and were spared the throat slashing.”
The screen lit again and they were back in the control room.
“The answer is,” Gaios went on, “that they weren’t spared. They were shot instead of slashed.”
The video closed in and lingered on what appeared to be bullet wounds.
“Firing a gun on a submarine?” Luka said. “I thought that was verboten—tantamount to attempting suicide.”
“I don’t think the shooter cared. Here, look: We’ve returned to the fellow with the back of his head blown out. Check out the name on his uniform.”
Zina could make out Werner.
“The science officer?”
Gaios nodded. “Uh-huh. And check out the Luger in his lap. My preliminary guess is that he went off his rocker and started his spree in the dead of night, slashing the throats of his early victims because it was quieter, and then eventually, when he’d been discovered and the alarm was out, resorting to the pistol. Finally, after finishing off everyone else, he did himself.”
Zina leaned back. “We have to go on board.” She looked at Gaios. “When is that possible?”
He shrugged. “As soon as you want, but I’d recommend some routine anti-contamination precautions—so you don’t contaminate the scene and vice versa.”
“You think there might be a problem?”
“Well, we’ve sampled the air on board and it’s free of toxins, so I don’t think you need hazmat helmets, but full coveralls and gloves might be prudent.”
4
Chan didn’t recognize the number on his phone’s caller ID—his personal phone, not his NSA phone. He accepted it.
“Who’s this?”
A woman said, “I hope you recognize my voice.”
He did. The French accent was unmistakable. And he could guess why she chose the hope-you-recognize approach rather than simply saying, This is Nicolette.
“I do,” he said. “I have your number now and will call you back there immediately on a secure phone.”
He did exactly that using the NSA phone he’d been issued when he joined R3A.
“Nicolette,” he said when she answered, “this is a safe phone, encrypted out the wazoo. You can talk freely. Where are you?”
“Driving though Vermont. Where are you?”
“Outside Keene, New Hampshire, at the scene of that massacre. Pam… Daphne… all those kids.”
He heard Nicolette sob once on the other end.
“I know!”
“Who’s left?”
“Just me, Shonda, Wayne, Lexie, and two others.”
My God, he thought. Six? That’s all? Just six total?
“Who did this? Any idea?”
“They somehow knew where we’d be. Lexie says they’re called something like ‘yenna-sair-ee.’ Does that ring a bell?”
It did. Hadn’t Ilya mentioned that word?
“No, but I know someone who’ll definitely know.” He glanced over to where Ilya was sitting. If anyone knew, he would. “Wait… Lexie? How does she know?”
“That’s way too complicated to get into right now.”
“Okay, can you tell me what happened to the attackers? We know what they were using against you folks, but no one can fathom what was used against them. What happened to them?”
After a long pause, she said, “Wayne…Wayne happened.”
“Your son? That Wayne?”
A choked, “Yes.”
“What did he—?”
“I don’t know. He held out his hand as if to say ‘Stop!’ and the four of them just began to… shred.”
Yeah. Shred. Exactly what appeared to have happened to them.
“Has he ever—?”
“No! Never! I don’t think even he knew he could do something like that.”
Those mystery genes Zina had mentioned. What Wayne did could be some of them manifesting themselves.
“Okay, then. We can get into that later. These yenna-sair-ee seem to have been eliminated as a threat for the time being, so—”
“But there are others—from what they call ‘the Order.’”
The Order…Ian mentioned the Order as “my people”?
“Are they after you too?”
“They tried to finish us off but Lexie turned the tables on them. Better you don’t ask.”
Lexie again. What was it with that child? He knew about her IQ, but what else was going on? He’d ask later.
“Are you being followed now?”
“No. I’m very sure not. We’ve been keeping close watch.”
“Good. I’ll find a safe house for you and—”
“We’ve got one that Samuel set up.”
“Not a good idea. They found you at the condos. Let me get you the address of an NSA safe house. I’ll get back to you with the coordinates and meet you there.”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
“It’s very mutual.”
And he meant that.
Ilya had arrived earlier from Alberta and was seated less than ten feet away. He was already on his phone to NSA HQ in Maryland and had the location of an empty place in rural Pennsylvania within ten minutes. The place didn’t have a street address so Chan texted the coordinates to Nicolette. She’d have to use a GPS.
“I couldn’t help but hear you mention ‘yeniçeri’ and ‘the Order,’” Ilya said after Chan hung up.
Chan nodded. Just the person he’d intended to ask. “Right. You’ve heard of them?”
“Oh, absolutely. The yeniçeri work for the Ally, the Owner. The original yeniçeri—also known as Janissaries—were non-Muslim boys enslaved by the Ottoman Empire and raised into elite troops who acted as the sultan’s personal guard—his house army. They were a fierce and intensely loyal group. The Ally’s yeniçeri are runaways and abandoned boys who were taken in by a mysterious pair known as ‘the Twins’ and raised to protect the Oculi.”
Danni, sitting nearby, made a face and said, “Well, that clears up everything.”
Ilya laughed. “You two have a lot to learn. The Ally communicates with groups of its minions through an Oculus, which is a man or woman who receives visions, which are then passed on to the yeniçeri, who act on whatever instructions come with the vision.”
Chan said, “Nicolette doesn’t know how these yeniçeri found them. Do you think the Ally used an Oculus to tell them?”
“I’d bet money on it.”
Danni said, “So these yeniçeri are the Ally’s private army?”
“They prefer to think of themselves as a modern Militia Vigilum, which was a paramilitary group in ancient Rome that served as the city’s fire brigade.”
“And the remnant of the Family—unarmed women and children—was a fire that needed putting out?”
“Usually the fires are set by the Otherness—the Contender—who wants to turn our world into a horror show. Their job is to block the Otherness, and to do that they take their orders from the Ally via their Oculus.”
“Even if it includes gunning down children?”
“If the Ally says it needs doing, then…yes. But despite that, you should realize that the yeniçeri consider themselves the good guys.”
“I’d hate to meet the bad guys, then.”
Ilya’s smile was grim. “You already met one of them. And you killed him.”
“Oh, right,” she said in a low voice. “Ian.”
“But you did it to save me,” Chan said. He couldn’t stand seeing Danni beat herself up about that. To Ilya: “He was with this Order that Nicolette said tried to finish them off?”
A nod. “I mentioned them the other day. The Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order. They work for the other side—the Otherness. They’re the bad guys. The yeniçeri are out to keep the world safe from the Otherness. The Order is out to help the Otherness come to power, in exchange for being put in charge once it takes over.”
“Then let them fight each other and leave the Family out of it.”
Ilya leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Here’s what I think is going on: The Squatter tried to play games on the Ally’s turf, so the Ally wants to wipe out every last trace of the Squatter.”
“Why not just let Nicolette and those kids be?” Chan said. “They’re not hurting anyone.”
“The Ally wouldn’t see it that way. From what you learned from Samuel and what we’ve learned on our own, it’s clear the Squatter enhanced a set of humans and added extra genes to their germlines with the intention of letting them breed and see what resulted. The Squatter probably thought it would be fun to sit behind his sigil-fence and watch how those varying combinations of genes played out over generations. Don’t forget: A millennium is an eye blink to these entities.”
“So,” Chan said, “what you’re saying is that even though the Ally absorbed the Squatter, the Squatter’s game continues.”
“Right. And the Ally can’t allow that.”
“Okay. But then why would the Septimus Order try to help the Ally?”
“They probably look at it as helping the Otherness. The Family and its offspring are unknown quantities that might wind up interfering with the plans of the Otherness. Best to eliminate them from the Game entirely.”
Danni shook her head in dismay. “So they got both groups out to get them? Not good. Not good at all. Where can they hide?”
“Nowhere,” Ilya said. “The Ally can find them anywhere. Earth is its world, after all.”
Danni looked like she didn’t want to hear that. Chan knew he didn’t.
5
Zina hadn’t expected an easy time wandering among the frozen corpses—corpsicles, as Luka called them—but it turned out worse than she’d imagined. She found the lacerated throats and the agonized expressions literally frozen on their dead faces deeply disturbing, and knew they’d haunt her dreams for a long time.
Gaios had gone straight for the camera and sent it and its film canisters outside to be flown to the Truman for developing. The three of them gathered at the locked door to the science officer’s quarters. Gaios had brought a pry bar along from the camp and used it to snap the lock. Inside they found a cramped but scrupulously neat room—bed made, floor clean. On the small desk next to a stack of papers sat a locked metal box, a cube perhaps nine inches on a side.
“Hey, sis,” Luka said, tapping the top sheet of the stack. “Look.”
Zina felt a thrill zing through her as she saw the shape. “A septagon.”
“Does that mean something?” Gaios said.
Zina nodded. “Oh, yeah. We see it a lot.”
So many of the artifacts of the entities—the Players and non-players—seemed to involve a seven-sided shape. But she didn’t want to get involved in answering all the questions she’d inevitably trigger by opening that particular can of worms.
Luka began fanning through the sheets. “I’ll be damned. They’re all the same… all septagons. And all bisected.”
That was unusual. She, Luka, and Ilya had often seen seven-sided shapes filled with images or designs or decorated with glyphs along the border, but she couldn’t remember seeing a simple bisect line before.
“Gotta be a hundred sheets here,” Luka said. “Looks like he became obsessed with that shape before his killing spree.” He ran his hands up and down along the straight sides of the stack. “But neatly obsessed.”
Gaios laid a gloved on the box. “No seven sides to this. Just a plain old cube.” He went to move it and stopped. “This is lead.”
Luka leaned over it. “A lead-lined box? Whatever for?”
“Feel the weight of that. It’s not just lead-lined, it’s made of lead.”
Zina said, “That little padlock is all that’s holding it closed. Check the desk for a key.”
Gaios stared at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“What?”
“Whatever’s in there… the person who put it there thought it required lead shielding. We have to open this under controlled conditions.”
Zina gave a derisive snort. “The person who locked it in there sat down and drew the same geometric figure a hundred or so times. And then went on a killing spree. We’re not exactly talking about a rational decision maker here.”
“My sister has an impetuous nature,” Luka said.
Okay, here we go.
“You always say that.”
“Well, it’s true. And it’s caused problems before, as you well know.”
“You’re exaggerating, as usual.”
Although she had to admit—only to herself—that he wasn’t entirely wrong.
“And besides,” Luka added, “how can we be sure what’s in there didn’t cause Hauptman Werner’s killing spree?”
“We can’t be sure. And we never will if we leave it closed.”
“We won’t leave it closed,” Gaios said. “Trust me on that. But I’m with your brother on this. We’ll open it out on the berg, far from the sub and the camp, under controlled conditions—bomb team, Geiger counters, the works. I don’t know if you’ve ever been on a shooting range, but rule number one is always the same: Treat every gun as loaded until you’ve personally checked the breech and found it empty. In my book, a locked lead box contains radioactive material until proven otherwise.”
While he and Luka stepped out into the narrow hall to arrange for the box’s removal, Zina opened the desk’s shallow top drawer and found a ring with four keys.
They looked like they might come in handy, so she pocketed them and followed the other two up a short run of metal steps back to the control room. There they found a member of the team who could read German paging through the ship’s log.
“Got something here, Captain.”
“Like?”
“Like the last entry was January twelve, ’forty-one.”
“That means it was summer when they were here.”
“Right. It says they were exploring a cavern on the coast of Neuschwabenland that’s accessible only by sub.”
“And where the hell is Neuschwabenland?”
“That’s New Swabia—the area of the Antarctic they claimed from Norway in thirty-eight. It says here the walls glowed and they found a massive door and artifacts.”
“Artifacts?” Zina said. “What sort of artifacts?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“What about the ‘massive door’? Were they able to open it?”
“They only say, ‘Tür ins Nirgendwo.’”
“‘Door to nowhere,’” said Luka, who spoke German. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The translator shrugged. “Doesn’t say. But it mentions taking lots of photos to show to the Kriegsmarine when they got home.”
“Did that camera and film get off as I ordered?” Gaios said.
“Yessir. Immediately. They’re en route to the Truman now.”
“We’ll just have to wait, I guess. Meanwhile, where’s this underwater cavern?”
“The cavern itself is above water. Only the approach is underwater. But I have the coordinates here, sir: longitude is minus seventy point three-seven and latitude is minus two point seven-eight. There’s a chart over there and I already checked it. The entrance looks like it’s in a peninsula on the western edge of Fimbulisen.” In response to three confused stares, he added, “The Fimbul Ice Shelf.”
Gaios stepped to the chart and stood over it, chewing his lip.
“Wishing we had a submarine, Captain?” Zina said.
He smiled. “The U-104 here was running its mission at the height of summer down here and we’re now just coming off winter. So the passage might be frozen closed now. And even if it’s still open, a modern sub might not fit.”
