Shadow of War, page 30
They were worried that we were going to use them to force our way into The Vault.
They were right.
There was a camera above the hatch, and Johnny darted forward with a fabric bag. He wrapped it around the camera and retreated, staring at it. The camera was still functioning, but security would only see black. When the airlock started its cycle, I hoped they’d just think someone from the repair team had returned for some reason or another.
Complacency was our weapon.
I keyed the airlock, and the large hatch opened.
We entered, the water lowered, and the decompression began.
1:12:03
“Who the hell are you?” one of the repair crew growled at me.
The decompression sequence was working to bring us down to four atms, but I’d had to adjust it because we’d been out for a long time. We had a thirty-minute wait ahead of us, and it made me sweat. Time was ticking, and it didn’t give us long to locate the components.
He was an older man, East Indian perhaps, and he was scowling.
“Just shut up,” I said. “You might survive. Take care of your friend here. He’s still bleeding. Don’t resist; it’ll be better for you.”
They stared at me, then glanced at each other. Then, collectively, they seemed to deflate.
We stripped their equipment and outer clothing off and restrained them against the bulkhead with zip ties. Alyssna wrapped a tourniquet around the injured man’s leg, slowing the bleeding. He started to say thanks, then gasped when he noticed her face.
“What are you doing?” he blurted.
“Shut up,” I said again.
“But—”
I swung my gun and cracked him across the scalp. He yelped and his head snapped back and hit the metal bulkhead. He was out.
But he’d recognized Alyssna.
Not that it mattered. No one would know she was living in Trieste. In fact, it might pin the blame on some other group, like the BSF.
As I thought it, Johnny, Richard, and Clarke stripped off their wetsuits, revealing their BSF uniforms.
I did the same, and the eyes facing us were incredulous.
We were four BSF officers infiltrating their base, along with a former engineer who had worked in their labs.
It made me laugh inwardly.
—••—
The Commodore suddenly spoke, and it sent a shock through me.
“Who’s in charge of this facility,” he asked.
Faces stared up at the man who towered over them. One of the repair crew was a middle-aged woman, and she was shivering on the deck. A younger man replied, “I don’t have to answer you.”
Clarke pulled the knife from the sheath on his left thigh. “Answer or you die right now. Are you BSFIF?”
The man swallowed. My instinct was to stop this and stop it immediately—but I wanted the answer too. I needed to know exactly what was going on with Clarke and his not-so-secret mission.
The man said, “This is a BSFIF base.”
Clarke knelt and held the knife to the man’s throat. “Go on,” he said.
Cliff and Johnny were watching, silent. Cliff’s hands were twitching. He was ready to put a stop to it at a second’s notice.
The man whispered, “Admiral Hitchens is CO of this base.”
Clarke looked up at me. “Hitchens was stationed at Diego Garcia.” Then he looked back to the prisoner. “When did he arrive, and who was in charge before him?”
The man shot a look at his companions, then jerked back at Clarke’s knife in his throat. “He arrived six months ago. The previous CO was Admiral Thompson.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know! They took her away aboard a warsub.”
Clarke said to us, “They probably took her to Diego Garcia. Removed her from duty here because she wouldn’t follow the BSFIF.”
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“Not personally, but she’s loyal to the BSF. She likely resisted their plans and they put someone else in her place. Hitchens. We haven’t received a report from her in a while.”
When they started escalating their aggression, no doubt, by testing the weapon on civilians. Or speaking about taking over the BSF. “Did you know she was here?”
“No. The brass at BSFCO don’t know about this facility.”
I frowned. There was a lot going on here that didn’t involve us.
We just needed the weapon and we needed to get out safely. That’s all I cared about.
—••—
0:43:30
The decompression completed with a chime and the inner hatch opened. Cliff had removed his wetsuit and pulled on one of the repair crew’s work jumpers. Alyssna had taken another. The rest of us were in BSF officers’ uniforms, and we looked like we fit in.
We were strangers though, and people would know we didn’t belong.
Then again, I was sure sometimes people arrived from DG—new crews rotating in, for instance—and we might get a few minutes of safety before people really began questioning us. We’d come up with a plan, and after a tumultuous couple of weeks, we were finally going to see if it worked.
There was a prep room outside the airlock where people could change, charge their tanks, store their equipment and so on. Engineers had carved it from the solid rock; the walls were basalt, sealed with a waterproof and airtight coating that gave them a shiny, wet appearance. Crystals in the rock glistened and sparkled. This was the room that all people passed through on their way into the facility. Security was the next area we’d encounter; it was up through a lift to the southernmost module at the peak of the ridge. It was one of the modules Chalam’s magnetometer had detected all those weeks ago. After that, there were three more modules before we would hit the next lift going down, back into the solid rock to the facility’s laboratories.
I put my palm on the airlock hatch, to shut the repair crew in.
“Wait,” a voice hissed.
It was the younger man whom Clarke had been speaking with earlier. He had a wild look in his eyes. “What?” I asked.
“Don’t do that. I promise we won’t call out.”
“Bullshit. I’m not dumb.”
“No, don’t!” he pleaded. “Listen. If the airlock cycles with us in it, it’ll drown us. We don’t have any equipment!”
I mulled it over. I could jam the door open so it wouldn’t close—and therefore wouldn’t cycle—but then the prisoners could call for help. “I’d have to gag you.”
“Anything. Please. Just don’t seal us in here. I don’t want to die like that.”
I understood his fear. Being in an airlock without the proper equipment would terrify anyone. A glance at Cliff confirmed it, and within minutes he’d gagged them. We used a zip tie to keep the hatch open; if anyone triggered it from the outside, it wouldn’t cycle.
We turned back to the lift that led to security.
We entered.
Chapter Thirty
Cliff and Johnny had drawn their pistols and I put a hand on Johnny’s wrist. “Only if necessary. Remember that.”
He stared at me. “Mac, we’re in the shit here.”
“I know that.”
“They’ll figure out what’s going on soon, maybe in minutes. Surely you can’t keep us from—”
“Don’t say it.” I snapped a look at Clarke. His eyes were steel. I continued, “Look. Sahar asked us not to. I have to at least try. We need Churchill with Oceania.”
“What if it puts this whole mission at risk?” Johnny asked.
“We try to get through this without killing.”
Clarke was glaring at me. “Don’t be a fool, Mac. I like her too, but this is war.”
My jaw dropped. “These are British sailors in the BSF! How can you of all people want them dead?”
“This is a BSFIF base!” His face went red. “Splintered from the BSF! They’re traitors.”
“They just work here. They can’t control who’s in charge, for fuck’s sake. It’s the military! You do what your superiors say.”
He snorted. “And how many USSF sailors have you sent to the bottom? How many have you killed?”
“Too many, Clarke. But they were trying to kill me. These people are just keeping their scientists safe.” I stepped toward him. “And if you disobey that, then we’ll leave you behind and do this ourselves.”
He straightened and met my approach with one of his own. Our noses nearly touched. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not me, Clarke.”
From behind him, Cliff pressed his knife into the man’s back, at a kidney. “It’ll be me if it happens,” Cliff rasped into the man’s ear.
Clarke’s face went pale and he turned to look at Cliff. “You wouldn’t.”
“Of course I would,” Cliff replied in a simple, matter-of-fact tone.
There was a deadly silence as the senior BSF officer stared at the other. Then he deflated. “Very well. We try to talk our way through.”
“That’s what we planned, with Alyssna’s help. And if that doesn’t work,” I said, “then we restrain them, like we did the repair crew.”
“And then?” he sneered.
“Then—and only then—we shoot to kill. Understand?”
He stared at me for a long moment, then said, “Agreed.”
—••—
The lift whined softly as it thrust us upward. The shaft wall was also solid rock and it slid just inches past our eyes. I took several deep breaths, preparing myself. We had no idea what was before us; Alyssna had only been in this area of the complex twice before: once on arrival, and then when departing.
I glanced at her. We’d already gone over a plan while approaching the Indian Ocean, and she fixed me with a piercing look. She could tell what was going through my mind.
She said, “This is not a problem. I can do it.”
“Just to distract them, remember. They’ll know no ship came near. Just confuse them.”
“I’ve got it.”
The lift ground to a halt and the hatch opened.
—••—
The area was well lit. Large lights hung from the ceiling. The floor was also white, as were the bulkheads. I squinted against the brightness, then glanced around. A clearly marked path in red led the way to a desk area where sailors likely expected us to present our orders and identify ourselves. Before that was a three-meter-long and two-meter-high cylinder through which the red path led. It was a scanning device that would indicate all weapons or chemical agents.
I took a breath and walked confidently toward it. I was wearing a Captain’s uniform and the Commodore was at my side. Johnny and Richard were just behind, also in BSF uniforms. And behind them, Cliff and Alyssna, in workers’ jumpsuits.
One by one we passed through the scanner. It remained quiet, but I knew it was alerting the personnel in charge of our weaponry and other concealed items.
A conversation floated to my ears; there were three people speaking on the other side of a long desk that stretched from bulkhead to bulkhead.
A woman’s voice: “They’re not responding.”
“Try again.” This one was male. Young and brash.
A different man: “They couldn’t have all lost communication.”
“They could have if our receiver is out. The malfunction might be there, not at the towers.”
“Still, that’s not likely.”
“The first sensor is still out. The second one has now gone black too.”
“The airlock opened some time ago. They must have returned.”
“They were decompressing last I checked,” the younger man said.
“Should have ended by now. Check the camera again.” This was the woman. She was in charge.
“It’s dark, but the feeds are still streaming. It’s working.” Pause. “But the cycle is over. They’re out now.”
“I still think we should send a security team out immediately. This is not normal.”
There was a pause as they realized the lift had stopped and someone had just entered the security office. The last of us stepped through the scanner and we stood staring at the three. They looked up and didn’t quite know what to say. They were frowning at our uniforms.
Clarke barked into the silence, “Well? What’s the procedure here? Don’t just sit there.”
“Sir—” the woman said. She was wearing a security insignia on her sleeve, and her blue BSF uniform was distinctive. There was a red and black BSFIF logo on her shoulder. I hoped their adherence to protocol would confuse them.
“I’m Commodore Clarke,” he said. “It’s been a long and terrible trip. I want to get settled promptly.”
The other two men were scrabbling at computer consoles, and the woman continued staring, a look of extreme confusion on her features.
Clarke turned to Johnny. “Make sure to stow my gear safely in my quarters.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied in his British accent.
I belatedly realized that we were not carrying any gear with us!
Clarke pressed on in his commanding voice, “And I’ll want to speak with Admiral Hitchens as soon as possible. See if you can make that happen.”
“Aye.”
The woman opened her mouth, then closed it again. She just stared.
“Well,” Clarke spat. “We’re waiting.”
“I’m—I’m sorry, sir. We’re just dealing with a small issue.”
I said, “The airlock is buggered. The controls weren’t responding. Kept us in there for far longer than we needed, and we couldn’t call out.”
She turned to me. “Were you outside? I don’t understand. Where did you—”
“Of course we were,” I snapped. “On our survey. We all were.” I gestured at the others, willing Alyssna to do her bit. She hadn’t said anything yet, but now was the time—
As if she could read my mind, she stepped forward and said, “Doctor Malkins in particle physics arranged it. Surely he made you aware.”
The woman tilted her head and her jaw opened farther. “Doctor . . . Doctor Sonstraal? I didn’t know you were still . . . ” She trailed off and just stared.
The incident had completely confused her. She was off balance, off guard.
Clarke said, “I wish I could say the facility is looking great, though we couldn’t really see much from outside. Just rock. We’re going to inspect the labs now.”
She was studying Alyssna. “I thought you departed the facility months ago.”
“Just temporarily. I’ve been back for a few weeks.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
Clarke said, “Let’s just get cleared, all right? I have a schedule to maintain.” He turned to Johnny again. “Make sure we’re ready to go back to DG tomorrow.”
“Aye, sir.”
“What boat did you arrive on, sir?” she asked the Commodore.
“A transport from DG. It’s in the docking pool.”
She glanced at the security screens, no doubt wondering why it wasn’t there. “And why did you come through the personnel airlock and not the one at the arrival pool?”
“We performed a visual inspection outside. I already said that.” His face grew hard and he stepped forward. “What’s your designation, sailor?”
“Warrant Officer Rivers, sir. Again, I’m sorry. We’re experiencing some technical issues today, and we weren’t aware of your arrival. There were no orders preceding it either.” She frowned and glanced at the other two men with her. They were still searching their computer databases.
Alyssna said, “Surely Doctor Malkins notified his supervisor? Chief Lisbon? She should have notified you, if he didn’t.”
“I didn’t receive anything.” She was still staring at Alyssna, no doubt trying to figure out why she had no idea that a scientist who had left months ago was not only back, but supposedly had been back and working at the facility for weeks now.
Clarke said, “No matter. Let’s get through this and continue on.”
The woman came to a decision and in a flash her expression turned from confusion to concentration. Professionalism. “Very well. Please step forward here.” She indicated a square on the white deck outlined in red. The path through the scanners led directly to it. “Step into that square while I check the scan.”
She had accepted that although something odd was going on, she was going to follow procedure, at least until she could answer the question of the current malfunctions. There was a good chance that the problems had allowed a BSF transport to arrive without them realizing it; after all, two towers were currently not functioning, meaning they couldn’t detect sounds in an entire quadrant of the area outside the facility.
Our plan was working.
I began to feel a thrill of success percolate through my body. Rivers was processing Clarke into the facility—
And then it all fell apart.
She’d checked his ID and had noted the weapons on his thighs, logged them into the system, but allowed him to continue carrying them, as was customary. There was a gun on his right thigh, and a knife on his left.
When Rivers went to clear me next—she was working her way downward through the ranks, the standard procedure—Clarke suddenly did something we had not prepared for.
He pointed at the younger male assistant behind the desk and barked, “You! You can escort me to see the admiral. Let’s go.”
And then he turned his back and continued through the chamber toward the bulkhead hatch and the travel tube beyond. It snaked along the peak of the ridge, leading toward the next structure in the chain before the final module and the lift downward to the labs.
The man shot a look at Rivers, then after a brief pause, bolted to his feet to follow the Commodore.
—••—
