Decipher (58 page)

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Authors: Stel Pavlou

BOOK: Decipher
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They ran like they had never run in their lives before.
The true Leviathan of Atlantis cut through the water as if it didn't exist, reached over the bridge and when it failed to connect with its first strike, ducked underneath and reared its head up the other side.
It screamed in outraged fury and swiped again.
It missed. Its canoe-sized talons swinging just inches overhead.
It knew that it couldn't strike directly downward and swat them like mere insects. And that fact alone frustrated it even more. It had to be careful too, about its line of attack. It had to be precise, jabbing its massive paw between tall spindly columns of Carbon 60 that seemed to have been placed there purely to foil the incredible beast.
As the seven ran, the Leviathan turned its swim into a backstroke so it could keep track of its prey while keeping pace with it.
It lashed with its tail this time, making a whipping attack across their paths in the hope they would run into trouble.
But they never did.
Instead, those with sonic devices merely pointed their weapons in the beast's direction and shouted the sacred word with all the ferocity they could muster.
Vast dead chunks of crystal fell from the beast's chest as it took direct hit after direct hit. It finally crashed to a halt, sending a tidal wave of water swelling into the shoreline buildings ahead. And as it screamed in agony the seven did all they could to remain upright and moving as the backwash swilled along the bridge and threatened to sweep them over and into the canal.
They headed directly for the continuation of the Carbon 60 thoroughfare beyond, lined with tall crystal buildings on either side and knew instinctively that at the very least, for this stretch of the journey they would be safe.
But the Leviathan had other ideas, for as the team headed off down the main road that was littered with icy glacial protrusions from where the cavern had still not truly receded in places, the creature lined itself up with a granite-paved side road and rushed toward it.
Its razor-sharp blade-like plates and fins aeroplaning sheets of water up into the air, it roared toward the dockside and at the last available moment—it shattered.
Tens of thousands of massive shards of crystal chunks were catapulted up the road. They bounced. Rolled. And using the momentum to their advantage, transformed into ten thousand more Golems—sprinting at full pelt.
 
Hackett was the first to notice this, as the thoroughfare leveled out. It was suddenly like taking a trip down a ghostly version of any downtown Manhattan street, and glancing over to notice that a horde of ghosts had decided to run the marathon parallel to them, just the next block over.
Not only that, they were much faster than the humans, and in all likelihood were about to head them off at the pass.
Hackett stared straight ahead, felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins.
And gulped.
 
Ahead lay a zigzagging path between glacial deposits. A route so confusing it was hard to tell at first in which direction they were going since their line-of-sight view of the central district, not far away now, was obscured.
And then it happened. The frightening prospect they had all been dreading and never voiced.
Though the way ahead clearly continued, the C60 path upon which they trod and upon which their lives depended, disappeared under sheets of ice. Sometimes the depth of that ice covering could be measured in mere, frustrating inches. But those inches crucially separated life from death.
And the Golems knew this.
As the ice undulated up and down in front of them like
the gentle rolling of the countryside, the seven were confronted with squads of Golem search teams, pouring out from occasional side streets and meeting them head on, taking up attacking postures on the brows of the hills.
Zihamtu! Zihamtu! Zihamtu!
The obstructions were removed. But it wouldn't be long before their luck ran out.
When they reached the second canal, a much narrower affair than the first, they were relieved to find that all that ice actually worked in their favor, obscuring them from view as they journeyed across the wide open space toward the center.
And so it was with ten minutes to spare before the sun was due to trumpet its last gravity wave, that the seven remaining members of the Antarctic Team found themselves descending into the streets of the inner circle of Atlantis, passing by the spectacularly vast and imposing statues, which in turn supported the incredible crystal pyramid some 200 feet above their heads.
Making their way through the pits of ice that were glowing violently red, they watched in awe as hundreds of feet farther up, the energy twister of solar plasma cascaded down and coiled itself around the seven vast crystal towers.
In the middle of the ice sat a glowing crystal platform. Square-shaped and of exquisite design, it pulsed and throbbed with light, like a magic carpet waiting to take its guests up into the pyramid above.
But there was a problem, because there was simply no way of reaching the platform.
For standing between them and salvation was an entire legion of Golems. Waiting patiently. Fully armed. They knew they did not even need to attack because time was on their side. Around them stood the curious hulks and burnt-out strewn wreckage of the Chinese base
Jung Chang
. Torn and twisted from where it had fallen in from the surface, it was the perfect reminder that they too might yet become part of some macabre cemetery.
Hackett described it best of all by saying: “I don't know how we're going to get out of this one without an Act of God.”
 
An Act of God.
That was precisely what they got.
The ground shook.
So violent was the earthquake that November was knocked to her knees. Peals of thunder rang out as the deep red glow of the nearby volcano descended upon the whole city.
Matheson panicked. “Is this it?”
Hackett shook his head. “No,” he said, “this is just the build-up. Pre-tremors before the main event. Minor gravitational fluctuations before she pops her load completely.”
November couldn't help it. She started sobbing as Scott helped her to her feet, and that's when they all saw it. An intense white-hot glow, darkening to a distinct yellow, then orange, as it grew larger in a speckled effect at random all across the more imposing glaciers around them.
Suddenly, huge dark shafts of hot volcanic pumice began blasting out all around them as molten lava ate its way through the Antarctic ice like a hot knife through butter and cooled dramatically along the way.
The team dived for cover as a sudden protrusion of rock accompanied by super-hot jets of steam exploded right next to them. It was ironic, for they fared better than the Golems who stood stoically waiting for them. Multiple columns of heavy black pumice seemed to crisscross uncontrollably and explode out into the crystal crowd while the foul, choking stench of sulfur descended upon the whole area.
The ground shook again, more violently than before.
And as these weird, tree-trunk-sized lances of cooling rock continued to shoot forth through the ice, so the heavens opened up in a sudden cascade of brimstone. Hot molten rocks, some still glowing bright yellow and obviously malleable came hurtling through the ice cavern above and rained down upon the legion of Golems. Huge smoldering boulders rolled through the ice creating instant slush in their wake and knocking over hundreds of them at a time like skittles.
And Scott saw his chance. It was now or never.
Gently he took his arms from around November's shoulders and removed her head from his chest. He delicately brushed her hair from her face and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
“I will miss you,” he said.
She looked up into his eyes. So earnest. So comforting. “I'll miss you too,” she replied.
Matheson tapped his watch. “Go!” he cried. “We'll try and cover you! And Richard?”
Scott turned back.
“Thank you.”
Scott was puzzled. “For what?”
“For thinking any of us are actually worth saving.”
“Who'd have thought it?” Hackett scoffed. “Us geeks really do get to inherit the earth.”
Scott nodded, relinquishing his sonic weapon to the others.
Neither he nor Sarah would need one where they were going.
“Take care,” Sarah said as she departed. “All of you.”
 
They all moved forward in unison, the five who would remain behind, each blasting a path through the Golems to allow Scott and Sarah safe passage to the glowing platform.
The air was thick with throbbing vibration, as if the device itself was anxious. Anticipating the moment when it would fulfill its purpose.
They could all feel the crushing bass tones pound on their lungs and then—
Whoosh!
Scott and Sarah had taken their places aboard the floating skiff and were hurtling skyward, propelled by forces the others couldn't even contemplate. Within seconds the flying platform had docked with the pyramid and they were gone.
Hackett checked his watch. Checked with Pearce. The CIA agent agreed: “Two minutes,” he said.
The Golems were closing in all around them, swords drawn like a multitude of scythes, ready to do the bidding of the Angel of Death himself.
And then, one by one, the faces of the closest Golems began to warp and mutate. Until eventually they had transformed into effigies of men Matheson recognized. Men Rola Corp. had used in the past. Men who worked as mercenaries in South America. Ruthless, cold-blooded killers.
Maple, Carver and his entire squad.
 
 
Two minutes. Two whole minutes. There was every reason to believe they would not survive the next two minutes.
Everything was silent.
A peaceful calm had descended once the platform had locked into position. It was as if nothing could penetrate in from the outside world.
The room was vast and for the most part featureless. Though its glyph-covered walls closed in on them like some incredibly massive cathedral spire, the pyramid, unlike the ones in Egypt, was entirely hollow.
There were a few more platforms dotted way off up into the dark night of the obscured pinnacle, and a few panels and podiums in the exact center. And there were two human-shaped recesses, one on either side, into which they obviously would have to place themselves.
This was it.
Neither of them could breathe. Though they had shown firm resolve in front of the others, it had been a lie. They had been sharing each other's thoughts for some time now, and each knew that the other one was petrified.
“I wish I had known you sooner,” Scott ventured.
“I wish that too,” Sarah replied.
They both gulped in unison and closed their eyes. Then reveled in a moment of exquisite closeness for one final moment as they took pleasure in the deep and lasting ecstasy of a kiss.
 
“Ah, ain't that cute,” Bulger quipped mercilessly.
Scott and Sarah broke from their embrace as, across the expanse of Carbon 60 flooring, walked Jack Bulger—wearing the boots of a recently deceased marine.
He clanked his way toward them, and grinned.
Fortune Favors the Brave
—that was the ship's motto.
This sixth ship in the Arleigh Burke class of destroyers was specifically designed to conduct simultaneous operations against land, air, surface and subsurface targets. The AEGIS weapon system and its AN/SPY-ID multifunction radar meant the crew could track hundreds of potential targets at once.
The
McCain
had 22 officers and 315 enlisted men and women aboard; every single one of her 90 Tomahawk land-attack cruise missiles was already stored and positioned for rapid fire in her vertical launching system.
All she awaited was the word, which wasn't long in coming.
As the lead ship in coordinating the SaRGE decoy offensive, crewmen aboard the
McCain
had positioned the remote robotic soldiers to draw the Chinese forces out while old-fashioned tanks, artillery and camouflaged ground troops outflanked these forces from behind. Once these forces were in position the
McCain
would fire a barrage of Tomahawks at the Chinese incursion force in an attempt to make them retreat. If the strategy was successful, they would fall back right into the lap of the waiting U.S. troops.
It was risky. But then, there was always risk. It was still a sound plan.
On the bridge they waited patiently for word from the
Truman
and the other ships in both carrier battle groups while the clipped confirmation came in that: “All missiles locked to target, sir.”
The captain, Larry Belvedere, from New Port, Connecticut, nodded silently as he waited with his senior officers.
Eventually the call came in from the carrier. All troops were in position, and Admiral Dower was giving the orders to the support ships, personally. “The President regretfully confirmed some moments ago that the Chinese are refusing to back down on these matters and as a consequence we are authorized to fire at will,” he commanded.
 
 
Out on the deck of the
McCain
, the first wave of Tomahawks were away. And on the barren ice flats of Antarctica, the first shots between U.S. and Chinese forces were exchanged.
War had commenced.

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