Extinction (31 page)

This was why he had been trying to get someone to come to his cell all afternoon; if he could tell someone –
anyone
– what he knew, questions might start to get asked in the right places. It was something to hope for, at any rate.

He wondered what had happened to Alyssa and Jack Murray. Were they still alive? He hoped so.

He approached the door to bang again, but thought better of it. He’d break his hands if he wasn’t careful, and what good was it doing anyway? It was working off his frustration, but that was about it.

He turned to the other side of his cell and stood on the iron bed to look out of the small, barred window. He knew where he was, at least – the city’s historic political prison, on the other side of the government plaza from the mayor’s office. It had once housed dissenters and protesters, coming into its own during the civil war years ago. It was open now only as a museum, but Rushton saw that the cells were as practical as ever they had been; there was no way to escape.

He peered through the window to the plaza, six storeys below. He’d tried to attract attention, but the citizens who still dared to be out and about were keeping themselves to themselves and wouldn’t have looked up towards his window even if they had heard him.

He was about to lie back on his bed to nurse his aching hands when he saw a curious sight down in the plaza. Whereas most people walked with their heads bowed, ignoring everything around them in the hope that the situation would just go away if they pretended it didn’t exist, a group now rounded the corner with an air of confidence that was in stark contrast to this attitude.

The group were dressed in clean white robes and were wearing what appeared to be gold armbands, but it was the way they carried themselves that made them conspicuous: proud, confident, their bearing that of soldiers on parade.

Their clothes reminded him of that man on television the other night, Oswald Umbebe, the ‘high priest’ of – what was it? – the Order of Planetary Renewal. Rushton had been seeing more and more of these characters over the past few days, the order really seemed to be speaking to people, and men and women were signing up in droves. A part of him could see why. If people were going to die – as millions clearly thought they were – then it was easier if they believed it was for a purpose.

But what were they doing now? Rushton held on to the window bars with his bruised hands and pulled his head nearer to get a better look. They were spreading out around the plaza, ringing it in a huge circle. How many were there? Rushton tried to count them, and thought it must be at least fifty, all dressed in identical white tunics. They made quite a sight.

They knelt together on the concrete paving and started to chant. Rushton strained to hear but he was too far away. He wondered how long it would be before soldiers came to move them along. This sort of mass prayer was now regarded as an illegal demonstration, and the robed figures were liable to be arrested if they didn’t disband soon.

And then, as a crowd started to gather and people began to record the event on cameras and cellphones, one of the group stood and walked to the middle of the circle of devotees. He pulled what looked like a tin from under his robe, and started to empty the contents over his head, dousing himself in some sort of liquid.

Rushton gasped as the man then lit a match, realizing that it must have been gasoline that he had poured over himself. And then, before Rushton could fully comprehend what he was watching, the man touched the match to his head and his body went up in flames.

Rushton looked on in horror as the man stood there, engulfed in fire; time seemed to stand still as first his robes and then his body visibly melted away until he finally fell, first to his knees, and then to his hands, until all that remained was a burnt, charred corpse.

Rushton was stunned. The man had never even screamed.

And then Rushton, even after nearly four decades of reporting from all corners of the globe, looked on in utter astonishment at what happened next. As if called to action by the man in the middle, each of the other robed followers produced their own cans and poured the contents over themselves before lighting matches and setting themselves on fire. Within seconds there were fifty flaming, burning bodies writhing on the plaza. Some didn’t have the self-discipline of the first man, and screamed. Rushton could hear their agonized cries through the thick glass of his sixth-floor cell.

Some of the onlookers left, appalled at what they were seeing; others carried on filming, and Rushton knew, media ban or no media ban, these images would be all across the world within minutes.

He watched for the remaining minutes that it took for the men and women to burn to death, the soldiers, police and fire officers who raced to the scene with extinguishers and blankets simply too late. All that was left were charred remains and gold armbands scattered across the plaza.

Rushton knew it was impossible but he was sure he could smell the horrific stench of charred human meat, even all the way up here in his cell.

His face pale, shaken to his core, Rushton staggered off the bed and just made it to the toilet in the corner of his cell before he threw up.

What were they thinking?
he sobbed into the toilet bowl.
What were they thinking?

‘C
OME ON,
’ A
LYSSA
said, looking over at Jack as she waited nervously by the office door.

‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ Jack told her. ‘Leave me alone.’

Alyssa didn’t say another word, knowing he was right; her nagging him wouldn’t help anything. She turned back to the windows, peeking through the slats of the blinds. The sprawling complex of offices and cubicles outside was a seething mass of humanity, but nobody appeared to be paying any attention to their own small office.

Alyssa checked her watch. Just seven minutes to four. Her heart rate increased automatically. They had seven minutes to get out of here. It was true that nothing might happen at four, but she didn’t want to take the chance. It was a time many people left for the day, and Ward might be expected to be somewhere else.

Come on
, she urged Jack again, silently this time.

‘OK,’ Jack said instants later, ‘I’ve got it. The computer is located in the office of General David Tomkin, which is. . .’

His voice trailed off, and Alyssa realized he was trying to memorize the route. ‘Why are you checking where it is?’ Alyssa asked. ‘I thought all the information was here?’

Jack shook his head, still studying the screen. ‘I’m afraid not. I said this system was secure. What we need is on this general’s personal computer, possibly nowhere else. This system just told me who the computer belonged to and where we can find it, that’s all.’

‘So now we need to break into a general’s office?’ she asked, aghast. Jack hadn’t explained that to her. ‘And what do we do about
him
?’ she said, pointing at Ward, who was starting to drift back to consciousness.

‘I didn’t ask you to smash him over the head with a steel chair, Alyssa,’ Jack said.

‘Well, excuse me for coming up with a plan,’ Alyssa shot back.

‘You call assaulting a senior military officer in the headquarters of the Department of Defence a plan?’ Jack asked, eyebrows raised.

Before Alyssa could respond, Jack held up one hand to stop her and picked up a telephone handset with the other. He checked the screen again, and dialled a number.

‘Is that General Tomkin’s office?’ he asked. ‘Is he in?’ There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Alyssa checked her watch. Four minutes to four.

‘OK, not to worry,’ Jack continued. ‘This is Colonel Ward, head of cyber security, clearance access code delta two four nine alpha tango three four nine. You’re probably aware of the virus that’s been going through our systems, and we’ve traced it to General Tomkin’s computer. I’m going to need access to his office for two contractors we have here from Beltway Security Systems, David Jenkins and Elaine McDowell. They have full authorization from my department.’

There was another pause, then Jack spoke again. ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said. ‘They will be there in five minutes.’

He replaced the receiver and looked at Alyssa. ‘It seems that whoever this General Tomkin is, he’s just left. Flying off somewhere, apparently. But that means his office is wide open.’ Jack stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘And him?’ Alyssa asked, pointing at Ward.

‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ Jack said.

Tomkin smiled at the people he passed in the long corridors, something he rarely did. Breisner’s phone call was the reason. The news that Spectrum Nine was ready produced the same feeling as a parent had on the day of their child’s birth. It was relief and pure joy, albeit mixed with subconscious tinges of fear and anxiety. But after so long, so many years of toil, it was ready.

Tomkin thought back to the time he had spent in the military, fighting his country’s enemies all over the world in one form or another. He’d been badly injured, and had lost many of his closest friends. Now he was one step further down the path of ensuring that this would happen no more. Not for his country the mindless infantry struggle, or even the more impersonal clash of armoured vehicles or air strikes. No, not any more. Soon it would all be over, the enemy killed, with no more loss of life on his own side. It was a wonderful thought for a career military man.

A helicopter was waiting for him just outside the building, which would whisk him to a military airfield a few miles away. From there, he would get on board a personal jet and fly directly to the HIRP base to take over the operation himself.

Yes
, he thought as he walked down another long corridor towards the waiting helicopter,
the world is just about to get one hell of a lot better
.

After leaving the office, Alyssa had explained to the nearest person that Ward wanted privacy to deal with some sensitive information that had been lost due to the virus.

In the meantime, Jack asked for an escort to General Tomkin’s office, repeating the line about the virus having originated there. Alyssa had been impressed by Jack’s confidence; with an escort, they would be able to pass through security checks with no problem, as long as her own story about Ward was believed and nobody went into the office.

And so it was that within the promised five minutes, they arrived at the desk of Tomkin’s secretary. Jack and Alyssa thanked their escort, who made his way back to the CWD.

‘Now, how can I help you guys?’ the secretary – a blue-suited air force man, back ramrod straight and hair cut short – asked pleasantly.

Jack handed over a sheet of paper. ‘I believe Colonel Ward called about our visit,’ he said.

Alyssa glanced at the paper, which seemed to be some sort of official work order, and was impressed that Jack had managed to produce such a document so quickly.

The man studied the sheet of paper then looked up at them. ‘OK,’ he said, and rose from his desk, heading for the door to Tomkin’s inner office, unlocking it with a key attached to his leather belt. ‘Here you go.’

Alyssa was amazed when he just opened the door and ushered them in. ‘I’ve got a load of work on,’ he said, ‘so I’ll be just out here if you need me, OK?’

Alyssa and Jack thanked him and entered the office, Alyssa thinking that the man, though very pleasant, could do with a talk from Colonel Ward about security. She pushed the door closed behind her.

Jack was already at the general’s desk. ‘Damn,’ he breathed. ‘General Tomkin’s the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.’

Alyssa gasped. The name had been familiar but she hadn’t been able to place it.

‘That’s pretty high,’ she said. ‘I wonder if it goes any higher.’

Jack turned the computer on. ‘Well, let’s have a look, shall we?’

C
OLONEL
A
NDERSON WAITED
in the forest clearing, hearing the noise of the helicopter still some way out.

Tomkin had put the names out everywhere, and results were already coming in. The general wasn’t playing an active part himself now as he was about to leave for HIRP to take control of the Spectrum Nine deployment, but he had informed his sources to liaise directly with Anderson.

The fugitives had been traced to a mall not too far from here, where they had hired a car with the stolen ID. Traffic cameras had shown that they were headed towards the capital, but Anderson was now waiting for further updates on the exact location of the vehicle. He knew that when he had the car, he would have the fugitives.

His men had gone from store to store in the mall, trying to piece together what they had bought, if anything. The information that came back indicated that they may have changed their appearance with glasses and hair dye, and they might even have adjusted the pictures on the photo IDs. His men were still there making inquiries, but Anderson had no doubt where they were headed; it had to be the capital.

He shook his head in disbelief. Rather than try and escape, they still wanted to continue with their investigation. They were determined, he’d give them that much.

Anderson looked up and saw the chopper hovering above the treeline. If Durham and Murray were heading for the capital – and they might even be there by now – then that was where he was going too.

The chopper began to descend, and Anderson nodded to his men – his six best, chosen to accompany him on what he hoped would be the last phase of the chase. They started to move with him towards the landing zone.

His cellphone vibrated in his pocket, and he backed off to take the call.

He strained to hear what he was being told over the screaming of the helicopter rotors. He made out, ‘Fleece jackets . . . Embroidered . . . Beltway Security Systems. . .’

An icy premonition hit him, and he gestured at the chopper pilot, who cut power to the engines, slowing the rotor blades and quietening the deafening noise.

Anderson turned away and dialled another number. ‘It’s Anderson,’ he said urgently. ‘I want you to put me through to Beltway Security Systems. Immediately.’