Protocol 7

THE ENCAMPMENT

Samantha had to keep moving. What little heat the makeshift “campfire” yielded wasn’t nearly enough; more and more of the twenty-below temperature was creeping past the exo-suits; even fresh batteries from the scientist’s dwindling supply didn’t help.

So she paced. She walked from one end of the camp to the other while Hayden and the others huddled over their worktable and solidified their plan to revive the Spector.

She didn’t care. She couldn’t. All she could think about was the inhalers.

Those inhalers. Why did they bother her so? Why had Nastasia dragged two of them halfway around the world, and then left without them?

She had to get back to the Spector. She had to see if Andrew was right, if there were duplicates of these silly little items there.

“That’s it!”

It was Hayden. She turned to him in surprise.

“That’s it!” he shouted again. He was beaming like a child who had discovered something.

Lucas hadn’t been at the table. He stumped over, his fists thrust in the deep pockets of his ice-suit. “What am I missing?” he said.

Hayden ignored him. He was focused on Andrew instead. “Can we rewire the Spector’s boosters to power up the exterior shields?”

Andrew looked shocked. “You mean the propulsion generators? Convert them to put power into the shields? What in the world for?” He thought about it a moment longer and shook his head emphatically. “No, Hayden. Do you know how much heat that would produce? It would…”

And it hit him, so hard Andrew took a step back and plopped down on an ammo box that threatened to collapse under him. “Oh,” he said, as the idea took hold.

“So what do you think?” Hayden said, crossing his arms, waiting for the answer he knew was coming. “Would it work?”

Andrew was nodding again, but it was an entirely different kind of agreement. “Yeah, he said. “Yes, I do believe it would.”

“I knew it!” Hayden crowed. Only then did he turn and cock his head at Lucas, who was standing five feet away, shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

“What’s exactly below the Spector?” Hayden asked.

“Ice, of course,” Lucas replied, sighing with exasperation.

“Oh, come along, Lucas, don’t be an ass. Is there a tunnel, a fissure, a feeder channel, anything crossing under the Spector that might lead us out of this hellhole?”

“I’m…not sure,” Lucas said, thinking about it seriously for the first time. He turned to look at Rolfe who was more familiar with the network of tunnels. “Rolfe? Thoughts?”

“Here, let me help,” Ryan said and called up the best of the three-dimensional digital maps they had loaded into their cobbled-together holo-platform. They huddled around the display and tried to puzzle through the complex web of tunnels and shafts.

Rolfe immediately pointed toward a specific location deep in the midst of the chaos. “Here,” he said, no hesitation in his voice. “Approximately 260 feet below the Spector there is a tractor vein that leads directly into Fissure 9.”

Lucas still didn’t quite understand. “So you want to dig down, through 260 feet of ice that has the density of glass?” He shook his head.

Hayden almost snorted in derision. “Listen man, if we heat the treads and exterior shields using all the electricity the boosters can produce, the Spector could actually melt the ice it’s sitting on, and drop into the tunnel below.”

Lucas stopped shaking his head and thought about it. Hayden was right: there was no rock between them, no natural or manmade barrier. And if the figures they’d shown him about the booster’s output were real, then they really could do what Hayden suggested.

But Andrew wasn’t so sure. “Hayden,” he said, “If we do this, we’ll melt everything. We might even melt interior components, no matter how good the insulation is.”

Hayden scowled at him. “I know that,” he said derisively. “I built the damn thing, didn’t I? And it’s not like we’re going to ride it down. We’ll just wire it up, trigger the meltdown from a distance, and then rendezvous with the Spector when it comes to rest in the new tunnel.”

“Oh, yeah,” Andrew said. “Nothing to it.” He stared blindly at the holo-display a moment longer, calculating. “But you know, much as I hate to admit it, it just might work.”

Even Samantha had moved toward the table, sensing the excitement.

“I’ll need to get into the Spector,” Hayden said. “When I do, I can try to circumvent the original power grid and redirect the booster’s power plant to the exterior body. If I’m right, the exterior metallic alloy will heat up like a burning coal, and we’ll sink right down.”

“How long will the generators last? Without enough power, the Spector could get only halfway there—refreeze inside the shaft.”

“You’re insane,” Lucas said. “Even if you could melt through the ice for that ridiculous distance, you’ll simply find yourself in another tunnel—one that we can’t get to, by the way. With so many cave-ins and re-coring, it’s—”

“Not so,” Rolfe said, looking even more closely at his digital map. “If we cut through the Gorge, we can meet up at this point here, fifty feet below the vessel, then climb through an airshaft here, and…that’s it. A route home.”

Lucas snorted. “Absurd,” he said. “We’d actually have to climb down the side of the Gorge. None of us have ever even tried that before.”

Hayden had taken enough. “All right,” he said, “Do you have a better idea?”

Lucas scowled at him.

“We could squat here in your little camp until the last of your batteries goes bad and we all freeze to death. But…”

“Wait,” Lucas said, holding up a hand. “I said it was a crazy plan, didn’t say it was impossible.”

It took a moment for Hayden to believe what he was hearing, but then he broke into a grin. “So we’ll do it?” he said.

Lucas made a show of shrugging. “It’s better than nothing. After all, if we leave your submersible where it is now, Vector5 will surely get to it. In fact, I’m not sure that they haven’t taken it already.”

Hayden was jolted by the speculation. If the Spector was already compromised, then there was literally no way out of this place. But he pushed that thought away. The Spector would be there, waiting for him. He had to believe it.

He walked toward the corner of the room and started to sift through the leftover weapons and equipment from half a hundred ambushes and raids. “All right then,” he said, “let’s start packing.”

* * *

Less than fifteen minutes later, the team had split up. Hayden, Samantha, Andrew and Ryan had started the long hike back to the Spector. Lucas and two of his men, all of them heavily armed, followed along and took the point. It was a simple and nearly impossible plan: melt an escape route for the Spector, come back to the camp and leave immediately to recapture the vessel.

That might be the plan, Lucas thought as he watched Hayden and his team walking ahead of him, but that’s not what’s going to happen.





DRAGGER PASS

9:27 AM

“We weren’t supposed to make it this far.”

Simon turned his head and looked at Max. The dim light of the Gorge made him slightly visible, but Simon wanted more. He directed the dwindling light of his shoulder lamp so he could see his best friend’s face. “What?”

“Our ‘friend’ Lucas sent us right to the main entrance to Dragger Pass. Something doesn’t smell right. And Simon, we aren’t the only ones here. Lucas would have known that.”

The faint rumbling had grown steadily louder. It wasn’t the wind at all, Max knew now. It was a vehicle—a big vehicle. And it was coming toward them fast.

“It’s a trap,” Max hissed. “Move back. Into the shadows.” The ice beneath their feet was slippery, churned up and refrozen after the passage of dozens of vehicles that had traveled across the bridge. Less than ten seconds later, the massive DITV of the Black Ops team rolled into view on the far side of the bridge, its twelve-foot wheels spinning and grasping. The trio watched wordlessly as the vehicle slalomed to a stop, turned, and rumbled across the bridge. It was barely wide enough to accommodate the huge, heavily armored transport.

“Don’t like this,” Max said. “Don’t like this at all.”

* * *

Drago was the name that the leader of the Black Ops was using this year. He was a menacing, remorseless character, a mercenary over six-foot-five who didn’t give a damn about Vector5 or anyone else outside the mission and his current team—so he didn’t think twice about following Blackburn’s orders to kill Roland for his failures.

He stood behind the pilot in the cockpit, looming over him as they crossed the bridge at Dragger Pass. The only sound they heard was the grumble of the vehicle’s engines and the crunch of the ice under its treads.

They were barely across the bridge when his forward scout called out, “Movement!”

“Pull up!” If the sensors were showing people out there, outside a vehicle and in unauthorized space, he needed to know.

“Full scan,” he said. The cockpit was absolutely quiet as the sensors, active and passive, examining every inch of the tunnels that opened onto the bridge landing.

“Inconclusive,” the forward scout said, sounding frustrated. “Too damn cold for the infrared, and if they stay out of line-of-site, the motion detectors can’t grab ‘em.”

“Hmph,” Drago said. “But you saw them? Saw something?”

“I’d bet my life on it,” the scout said.

You just did, Drago thought.

“We wait, and if this is Roland’s team, they’ve already met us half way.”

* * *

Nastasia was quiet, waiting for Simon’s lead. But it was Max’s voice that cut through the icy air.

“Lucas sent us into an ambush,” he whispered as the terrifying military transport slowed to a sudden stop at the end of the bridge. It was scanning obviously looking for something. For them.

“No lights,” he said, though it was hardly necessary. Still, it was pitch black in the shadows; Nastasia couldn’t even see the hand in front of her face. “Grab my shoulder with one hand and follow me quietly.”

“I can’t see anything,” whispered Nastasia, trying to find Simon’s body in the absolute darkness.

“Just feel what’s below your feet,” Max said. “Take careful steps. We’re backing up here, you and me. Into the tunnel. Farther back.”

She followed him reluctantly, thinking all the while, Where is Simon? I can’t lose him…

They were no more than thirty feet deeper into the cave when the vehicle surged forward and came straight toward them. Max wasted no time. He pulled Nastasia’s body close to him and whispered fiercely, “I need your weapon.” Before she had a second to respond, he grabbed it from the holster that Lucas had provided and snatched her ammo and provisions bag from her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“You’re going to stand right here and wait for that vehicle,” he said as the lights of the menacing transport inched closer. They could be revealed at any instant. “You understand me?”

“But—”

“No questions. You’re alone. You just crashed from a cycle you had just stolen. Do you understand me?”

The vehicle was nearly on top of them. Almost against her will, Nastasia turned to face it, and suddenly Max was gone, faded into the night. She was alone.

Now the whole world was blinding light and the buzz of vibration below her feet, as the huge vehicle rushed toward her. She had never felt such fear as she stood on the frozen floor, gazing at the lights, imagining the weapons she knew were locked on her.

* * *

The pilot of the Black Ops DITV leaned forward in his seat. “Sir,” he said to Drago, “You need to see this.” He clearly couldn’t believe what the sensors were showing him.

“Magnify,” he told the AI unit inside the cockpit. The image zoomed forward with dizzying speed, and he found himself looking at Nastasia standing on the frozen icy floor, panic in her eyes.

“Pop the hatch,” Drago ordered. “We’ve got company.”

* * *

Nastasia’s legs started shaking as the vehicle sped directly toward her. The sound of the massive machine reverberated through her body, and its hulking shape, barely visible behind its blinding lights, was like some huge predator poised on its haunches, ready to pounce.

For an instant she was sure she was going to die, that the vehicle would crush her in its path. She dropped her head, focusing on the floor below her feet, and prayed that her life would not come to an end as a cold draft from the vehicle’s movement hit her face in a wave of freezing air.

The DITV stopped a few yards in front of her, its nose almost hovering above her. After a moment, the hatch at the bottom of the vehicle hissed and made a thick, chunking POP, and in seconds the Black Ops team was upon her, weapons drawn. Their leader—he had to be their leader, was the first to approach.

Nastasia was sure she was looking death in the eye.

* * *

Standing less than a few feet away and slowing his final approach, Drago could see that she was shaking. It made her look weak and confused. She certainly didn’t pose any serious threat to him, he knew instantly. The pilot stayed inside the vehicle, which was the protocol.

He used his heavily gloved hand to pull the mask from her delicate face. Even in the dimness, her piercing blue eyes were quite beautiful.

“What have we got here?” Drago said, lifting her chin toward his face. He was more than a foot taller than she was. He liked the fact that he could see her undisguised features, and all she could see was the blank, matte composite material of his face mask.

“Who are you, and how the f*ck did you get here?”

Drago had known instantly that she was not one of the scientists that had escaped. Although there were females among the captives, none of them had disappeared with that group. He had memorized every one of their faces long ago. No, she was new. She was wearing something that was definitely standard issue. It was more like a wetsuit of sorts.

“My cycle exploded as I jumped the tunnel. I—”

“Your cycle?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I…my…” the story that Max had told her to repeat faded from her memory.

“And how did you come to possess this cycle?” he asked, toying with her. Knowing that she was definitely one of the members from the intruder vessel he was looking for.

“We stole it.”

“We stole it?” he mimicked, laughing as he looked back at the rest of his team. They had all dropped their aim now; they seemed almost amused as they relaxed to watch the show. “And who is we?”

Nastasia strained to see him clearly, but the brilliant lights from the vehicle made him and the others little more than silhouettes. Meanwhile, Drago wanted to see her hypnotic blue eyes a little more clearly. He tapped his shoulder to engage communication with the pilot, still inside the Shadow Ops DITV. “Pilot,” he said, “reduce your headlights to twenty percent and point them over at the wall.”

Nothing happened.

“Ligo?” he called the pilot by his assigned name, annoyed. He wasn’t used to having his orders ignored.

Abruptly, without warning, the headlights blinked out completely.

Drago cursed under his breath and touched his shoulder again. “Ligo,” he hissed. “Did I not make myself clear? Lower the headlights and turn them on the wall.”

Still—no response.

Drago turned to tell his lieutenant to fix the—

His two soldiers were lying motionless on the ice.

Drago’s eyes narrowed. “What the—”

Max’s knife entered his neck so swiftly that Drago didn’t even feel it sever his carotid artery. But he heard Nastasia gasp as his steaming blood splattered across her face. “What the fu—” he said and fell.

He was dead before his body hit the ice.

Max bowed as the big body crumpled and pulled his knife free of Drago’s neck with one single, businesslike stroke. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. Then he took her arm, and they dashed to the massive vehicle.

* * *

Nastasia stopped short, astonished all over again, as her feet hit the perforated metal flor that lined the Black Op’s vehicle’s cockpit. Simon was already there standing behind the helmeted pilot, illuminated only by dim blue emergency lights. He had an old-fashioned pistol—not a Vector5 ray gun, but a solid and familiar Glock 32—in his fist. He had the muzzle pressed tight against the back of the driver’s neck. It didn’t flinch as Max walked in with Nastasia close behind him.

“Close the hatch,” Simon told her without looking away from the driver.

“Simon,” she said, “there has to—”

“Close the hatch,” he said again.

She heard something in his voice she had never heard before. A coldness. A hatred. A determination that glinted like steel.

He had changed, she realized, and not in a good way.

Max stepped past her and ripped the helmet off the pilot’s head, revealing a man in his thirties with a sharp chin, a shaved head, and a look as cold as the Arctic winter. His dark brown eyes revealed little fear.

No one knew his real name. Everyone in Vector5 called him Ligo, and that was good enough.

Simon pushed the pistol deeper into the soldier’s neck.

“Turn the f*cking vehicle on,” he ordered.

The pilot didn’t move. He knew the drill; he’d been trained for it. He simply sat with hands clearly visible, loose in his lap, and stared blandly at the sophisticated instrument cluster in front of him.

Max wasted no time. With lightning speed, he placed the tip of his own handgun against the man’s clean-shaven cheek. He saw the gun steam slightly at the tip, still hot from firing moments before, and burn a mark in the soldier’s face. He still held his ground.

Simon couldn’t stand it. He shifted the placement of his weapon ever so slightly and fired. The sound was impossibly loud, almost deafening in the tiny space, but he did not blink. He watched the bullet enter the man’s shoulder from the back and blow a ragged bloody hole in the flesh as it exited. The pilot screamed and jerked forward, but he didn’t raise his hands.

“That was to show you I’m serious,” Simon told him. “Now turn on the f*cking vehicle or the next bullet goes into your brain.” He repositioned the pistol so it pressed quite firmly against the back of the man’s head, pointing forward and not trembling in the slightest.

The pilot closed his eyes against the pain. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, straining it between his teeth and gathering his will.

“Lazarus-9905 VSO requesting ignition,” he said.

The AI’s bland voice spoke from the console without hesitation: “Copy, 9905. Preparing initial system diagnostics.” The onboard computer was now analyzing the chip embedded in the soldier’s suit to verify authenticity. Two seconds later, the cockpit lights flared to reveal an array of sophisticated instruments and multiple monitors streaming a wide range of sensor-data. Both Simon and Max were startled at the technology; the instrument cluster in front of the pilot was seamless and rivaled that of the Spector, but it was more robust and clearly engineered to withstand heavy military use.

The pilot lifted his head a fraction. “Where to?”

Max looked closely at Simon. Simon didn’t look back as he recited the coordinates he had been given in Corsica—including the last line that Leon had written: -10,022 feet. They had been burned into his memory on that day. He didn’t need to think about it.

But the numbers were the first thing that actually made the pilot flinch. He tried to turn his head, struggled against the pressure of the pistol pressed against his neck.

“The computer will not recognize those coordinates.”

“What the f*ck do you mean?” said Simon.

“I mean it won’t respond. No one is allowed to travel there, to that depth, to that place. No one but the commander and a few special teams.” He paused for a moment to catch his breath. The pain from his shoulder was more than excruciating. “Not even us.”

And I know why, Nastasia told herself. She looked at her watch and carefully calculated the remaining time: five hours and seventeen minutes.

“Simon,” Max said clearly puzzled. “What are those numbers? Where did you—”

Simon shoved the pistol against the pilot’s skull. “That’s bullshit,” he grated. “You know where it is. Just…do whatever you have to do. Go to manual, override the AI’s security, whatever it takes. I don’t care. You’re taking us down there.”

“It won’t work,” the pilot said. “It’s not that simple. Look: ‘Lazarus-9905 VSO: proceed to coordinates nine point three point seven, negative four-fifty.’”

“Those are unauthorized coordinates,” the AI said very calmly. “Please revise.”

“You see?”

“Try something else.”

“Lazarus-9905 VSO: proceed to the Nest.”

“What the hell is the ‘Nest?’” Max said. “Simon—”

“9905, those are unauthorized coordinates. Please revise.”

Max thought he heard Nastasia make a sound. He glanced at her and saw her staring at Simon, almost in a trance. She knows something too, he realized. Those coordinates mean something.

“Then take us somewhere near there,” Simon said. “Somewhere that isn’t locked out.”

The pilot swallowed, his throat dry. The pain in his shoulder was obviously affecting him; he was starting to tremble from shock. “I…”

Simon shoved the pistol against his skull again “Do it!” he whispered.

“Lazarus-9905 VSO!” the pilot blurted out. “Proceed to Central Command, north quadrant!”

“Affirmative,” the AI said, sounding almost pleased. “Shall I proceed?”

The pilot sighed deeply. “Proceed,” he mumbled.

In an instant, the huge vehicle rotated 180 degrees and began a smooth and steady retreat across the slippery terrain. In a few moments they would be back at the bridge, back at Dragger Station.

Soon, Simon told himself, and forced the hand that was holding the gun to stay steady and not to tremble. Soon.