Authors: Steve Alten
Goliath (37 page)
Slow down … too fast, Sorceress … too fast!
A sudden presence … cold and solitary—envelops him like an icy mist, forcing his tortured mind to focus upon one particular point of light.
Covah looks down—a modern-day Alice in Wonderland—peeking through the looking glass.
It is a small, green-tiled chamber, as viewed from the perspective of a ceiling-mounted sensor orb. Strapped to a steel surgical table is a human figure.
It is him.
‘The Devil’s cleverest wile is to make men believe that he does not exist.
—Gerald C. Treacy
“All is dust and lies.
So much the worse for the men who get in my way.
Men are mere stepping-stones to me.
As soon as they begin to fail or are played out,
I put them scornfully aside. Society is a vast chessboard,
men the pawns, some black some white. I move them when
I please, and break them when they bore me.”
So much the worse for the men who get in my way.
Men are mere stepping-stones to me.
As soon as they begin to fail or are played out,
I put them scornfully aside. Society is a vast chessboard,
men the pawns, some black some white. I move them when
I please, and break them when they bore me.”
—Jeanne Brecourt, French courtesan, who hired a man to blind her lover with acid so he would be enslaved to her forever
“There’s no hunting in the world like haunting man.”
—Will Irwin, twentieth-century con artist
General Jackson stares out the Command Center window at a glorious crimson sunrise.
Colonel Udelsman approaches, handing him a fax. “General, we just received this transmission from COMSUBLANT. The
Scranton
claims to have briefly regained contact with the
Goliath.
Cubit thinks she’s closing on Amsterdam Island, approximately 860 miles due south of our present location.”
Scranton
claims to have briefly regained contact with the
Goliath.
Cubit thinks she’s closing on Amsterdam Island, approximately 860 miles due south of our present location.”
The Bear studies the chart of the Southern Hemisphere. Amsterdam Island is a speck located halfway between the tip of South Africa and Australia. “This makes no sense. Why would Covah head so far south if his next threat is to Africa?”
“Cubit’s hunches have played out so far.”
“Colonel, I can’t move two carrier fleets based on a wisp of a contact. Cubit needs to be damn sure.” Jackson mulls it over, then writes out a message on a pad of paper. “Contact COMSUBLANT. Have them relay this message to
Scranton.”
Scranton.”
Udelsman reads the message, his eyes widening. “Yes, sir.”
Gunnar Wolfe dangles from the ceiling-mounted targeting drone, his back and shoulders aching and inflamed. He can no longer wiggle his fingers, having lost all sensation from his hands clear up to his elbows.
The hum of machinery surrounds him. He looks up and stares at the crucified form of Thomas Chau, the glazed-over glare behind the rotting olive flesh unnerving.
The computer disposed of the other two bodies but still refuses to remove the Asian. Could there be some warped attachment involved.
Summoning up his last ounce of strength, he attempts another tactic.
Summoning up his last ounce of strength, he attempts another tactic.
“Sorceress,
why haven’t you disposed of Mr. Chau’s body?”
why haven’t you disposed of Mr. Chau’s body?”
No response.
“Did you like Mr. Chau? Do you regret killing him?”
THOMAS CHAU’S PURPOSE WAS TO ADVANCE THE PROCESS OF SELF-AWARENESS.
Gunnar closes his eyes, his mind racing. “I know of a more efficient way for you to advance the process of self-awareness. In fact, the experience might even be more beneficial than completing the interface with Simon Covah.”
ELABORATE.
“The hunt.”
THE HUNT: AN ACTIVITY OF THE HUMAN CONDITION. TO PURSUE FOR FOOD OR AS IN SPORT. INQUIRY: HOW CAN THE HUNT ENHANCE THE PROCESS OF SELF-AWARENESS?
Okay … you baited the hook, now take it away.
Gunnar sucks in a deep breath, preparing for the pain. “You know what? Forget I even mentioned it. I’m not sure your synaptic receptors could handle such an incredible experience.”
Gunnar sucks in a deep breath, preparing for the pain. “You know what? Forget I even mentioned it. I’m not sure your synaptic receptors could handle such an incredible experience.”
The electrical
zap
sends Gunnar’s body dancing below the mechanical appendages’ embrace like a puppet.
zap
sends Gunnar’s body dancing below the mechanical appendages’ embrace like a puppet.
HOW CAN THE HUNT ENHANCE THE PROCESS OF SELF-AWARENESS?
Gunnar’s lungs heave in agony. “You’d have … to experience it to understand. The hunt requires … a unique physical … and mental challenge. This challenge must carry with it an element of risk.”
ELABORATE RISK.
“To experience the hunt, you must release me, then try to recapture me before I can escape.”
CHALLENGE UNACCEPTABLE. DAVID PANIAGUA’S ORDERS ARE TO PREVENT GUNNAR WOLFE FROM LEAVING THIS COMPARTMENT ALIVE.
“David’s orders? I thought you were giving the orders around here?”
No response.
“You cannot experience the hunt without suitable prey.”
No response.
“There is one way you could still experience the enlightenment of the hunt and still be in compliance with David’s orders.”
ELABORATE.
“David never said anything about releasing me from your targeting
drone. Let me go, then hunt me down within this compartment. The watertight door is sealed, so there’s no way I could possibly escape.”
drone. Let me go, then hunt me down within this compartment. The watertight door is sealed, so there’s no way I could possibly escape.”
CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
The mechanical hand opens, releasing Gunnar, who drops six feet, collapsing in a heap upon the deck.
The mechanical hand opens, releasing Gunnar, who drops six feet, collapsing in a heap upon the deck.
The drone
swoops in again, grabbing one of his wrists.
swoops in again, grabbing one of his wrists.
“Wait a second! There are rules to the hunt. You’ll never enhance your self-awareness if you don’t obey the rules.”
ELABORATE THE RULES.
“The rules are simple: Before we begin, you have to give me, the hunted, a few minutes to recover. There’s no challenge in recapturing me if I’m not prepared.”
The graphite-and-steel claw releases him.
YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES TO RECOVER.
Gunnar shakes his arms. His hands feel like rubber, still not his to control.
“Sorceress,
two minutes is not enough time. The circulation in my hands has not—”
“Sorceress,
two minutes is not enough time. The circulation in my hands has not—”
YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE AND FORTY SECONDS TO RECOVER.
Gunnar stands, slapping his hands harder against his thighs, feeling pins and needles in his fingers as he forces the blood into them.
The targeting drones swivel in unison, following him as he paces the weapons compartment.
YOU HAVE FIFTY SECONDS TO RECOVER.
Gunnar opens and closes his hands, the returning circulation causing his fingers to throb as his gray eyes focus on the handgun, lying beneath the torpedo rack.
YOU HAVE TWENTY SECONDS TO RECOVER.
He drops to one knee, using his upper body to conceal the weapon from the sensor orb mounted in the ceiling. Gently, he lifts the gun with his right hand. Steadying it in his left, he releases the safety.
ONCE MORE THEN, TO THE THRILL OF THE HUNT …
Simon’s voice?
YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS—
Gunnar wheels around, comes up firing.
Six shots—the first two ricocheting harmlessly off the ceiling, the third sending sparks and smoke flying from the sensor orb’s audio monitor, the last three shattering the scarlet lens of the computer’s eyeball, shards of glass raining atop his head and back.
Diving sideways, Gunnar barely avoids the three-pronged hands of two targeting drones, which lash out toward him, snatching nothing but air.
GUNNAR WOLFE—
Ignoring the female’s voice, Gunnar crawls on all fours, taking momentary
refuge beneath an A-shaped rack of torpedoes. He slows his breathing, forcing himself to remain quiet.
refuge beneath an A-shaped rack of torpedoes. He slows his breathing, forcing himself to remain quiet.
GUNNAR WOLFE, YOU WILL RESPOND OR DIE.
The female’s voice—noticeably more insistent, almost humanlike in its frustration.
The sound of the sparking audio monitor masks his breaths as he scans the compartment for the underwater mine. On the opposite side of the room he spots a steel trunk, mounted to the decking.
GUNNAR WOLFE, YOU WILL RESPOND IMMEDIATELY, OR YOU WILL DIE IN GREAT PAIN. I WILL REMOVE YOUR SKULL. I SHALL ACCESS YOUR PAIN RECEPTORS. THERE WILL BE NO MERCY UNLESS YOU RESPOND IMMEDIATELY.
The computer’s learned how to use fear as a tool to manipulate. Clever machine …
Gunnar rises quietly onto the balls of his feet. Moving out from beneath the rack, he stands and tosses the handgun far to his right.
Gunnar rises quietly onto the balls of his feet. Moving out from beneath the rack, he stands and tosses the handgun far to his right.
Instantly, a half dozen targeting drones swivel along the ceiling in mirrorlike precision, lashing out blindly at the source of the sound. Steel-and-graphite claws snap as they slice through the air, while two bulkier deck-mounted loader drones rotate in position, their powerful seven-foot-long arms extending outward, groping blindly—
—while, on the opposite side of the weapons bay, Gunnar silently weaves his way toward the steel trunk.
NOW YOU WILL DIE, GUNNAR WOLFE. NOW YOU WILL DIE.
The female’s voice, ranting at a higher pitch.
The female’s voice, ranting at a higher pitch.
Gunnar inspects the trunk. The printing is in Chinese, English, and French:
Semtex.
His heart pounds. Semtex is the European counterpart to C-4, one of the most powerful plastic explosives in the world.
Semtex.
His heart pounds. Semtex is the European counterpart to C-4, one of the most powerful plastic explosives in the world.
The trunk is unlocked. Looking around, he searches for something else to toss. Finding nothing, he quietly removes one of his shoes, then throws it across the room.
The drones swivel like tin soldiers, their claws flailing blindly against a torpedo rack.
Gently, he unlatches the trunk. Lifts the lid, cringing as the brass hinges squeal in protest.
The mechanical arms pivot 180 degrees—
—as Gunnar reaches in and grabs an open backpack containing blocks of military grade C-4, charge initiators, and lengths of detonation cord.
From the ceiling, the graphite forearm of a targeting drone whizzes by his face, gripping the lid of the steel container, tearing it from its hinges like the husk from an ear of corn.
Gunnar drops to the floor as one of the heavy steel arms of a loader drone slams into the trunk, ripping it away from the decking. The second
arm extends before him, cutting off his retreat like a train gate at a railroad crossing.
arm extends before him, cutting off his retreat like a train gate at a railroad crossing.
YOU ARE TRAPPED, GUNNAR WOLFE. FURTHER EFFORT IS FUTILE. GIVE UP NOW AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE MERCY.
Crouching low, Gunnar moves to the base of the loader drone, the deck-mounted support assembly as thick as an oak.
From above, two targeting drones rotate toward the sound.
Gunnar hugs the steel base of the mechanical arm. Five feet above his head, poised in midair like cobras preparing to strike, are the open three-pronged claws of a pair of targeting drones. The steel appendages seem to be listening, waiting to lash out at the source of the next audible disturbance.
Too close to use the C-4. Too close? Hmm
…
…
Quietly, gently, Gunnar reaches out toward the loader drone’s extended limb, his right hand moving just above the mechanical arm’s elbow joint, only inches beneath the nearest three-pronged claw.
A little closer
…
…
Gunnar snaps his fingers, retracts his arm and ducks.
In one startling, inhuman movement, the two mechanical hands latch on to the elbow joint of the larger loader drone, igniting a ferocious robotic tugof-war.
A metal shearing sound reverberates through the compartment, sparks flying, as the loader drone rips the two smaller graphite-reinforced arms from the ceiling.
Gunnar crawls away from the chaos to the watertight door, estimating its density.
Inch-thick, solid steel plate …
He reaches into the bag and removes five blocks of C-4, each ten inches long, weighing just over a pound. Tears away the pressure-sensitive tape, muffling the sound with his body. Fastens two blocks along each of the two hinges, placing the last on top of the locking mechanism.
THE HUNT IS OVER, GUNNAR WOLFE. GREAT PAIN AWAITS YOU UNLESS YOU GIVE UP IMMEDIATELY.
Gunnar “daisy chains” the blocks of plastique explosive using the detonation cord, then looks around, searching for a place to take shelter.
Behind the torpedo rack—a steel bulkhead.
He jams the blasting cap into the terminal block of C-4, the two-foot-long time fuse giving him about ninety seconds to hide. An M-60 fuse-igniter dangles at the other end. He pulls the ring up and twists it several times—
YOUR TIME HAS EXPIRED, GUNNAR WOLFE—
—pressing it back into the fuse-igniter.
Gunnar tosses his remaining shoe across the chamber, then quickly, quietly,
moves toward the bulkhead, his bare feet silent atop the cool steel deck. Weaving his way carefully around rows of torpedoes, he ducks beneath the dangling claws of a targeting drone—
moves toward the bulkhead, his bare feet silent atop the cool steel deck. Weaving his way carefully around rows of torpedoes, he ducks beneath the dangling claws of a targeting drone—
—while
Sorceress
extends another ceiling-mounted arm toward the stillsmoldering sensor orb. The fingers of the mechanical appendage delicately loosen the mangled eyeball cover from its array, exposing a microphone and speaker assembly. Mechanical digits deftly unplug and rewire cable, knitting at inhuman speed as the computer bypasses its own damaged circuits.
Sorceress
extends another ceiling-mounted arm toward the stillsmoldering sensor orb. The fingers of the mechanical appendage delicately loosen the mangled eyeball cover from its array, exposing a microphone and speaker assembly. Mechanical digits deftly unplug and rewire cable, knitting at inhuman speed as the computer bypasses its own damaged circuits.
Seventy-five … seventy-six … seventy-seven …
Gunnar slips behind the bulkhead and ducks. Grits his teeth and covers his ears.
AUDIO RE-ESTABLISHED. I HEAR YOU, GUNNAR WOLFE. I CAN HEAR YOUR HEART BEATING. THE PLEASURE OF THE
HUNT
WILL STILL BE DERIVED AS I RETRACT YOUR EPIDERMIS AND DISSECT YOUR INTERNAL ANATOMY WHILE I KEEP YOU ALIVE.
HUNT
WILL STILL BE DERIVED AS I RETRACT YOUR EPIDERMIS AND DISSECT YOUR INTERNAL ANATOMY WHILE I KEEP YOU ALIVE.
The nearest drones swivel, reaching out to him—
WA-BOOOM!!
The earsplitting concussion rocks the entire weapons bay, sending bonerattling reverberations through Gunnar’s body. Pipe seams burst, shooting steam into the compartment. Through the din he registers a second clap of thunder—steel against steel—as the watertight door, torn clear of its frame, crashes flat onto the deck.
Gunnar pulls himself to his feet, his eyes watering, his throat aching as if it had been punched. Securing the backpack of C-4 inside his jumpsuit, he ducks beneath a flailing targeting drone, then dives headfirst through the smoldering opening. A tuck-and-roll to his feet, and he’s bounding down the steel catwalk.
The siren’s computerized voice screeches empty threats throughout the passage.
He reaches the watertight door separating the starboard wing from the main compartment—and stops.
The heavy steel door is half-open, inviting him to cross its threshold.
Gunnar looks to the ceiling, the scarlet eyeball watching him in silent vigil.
Clever machine …
He steps forward, baiting his jailer.
Clever machine …
He steps forward, baiting his jailer.
The door flies past his face as it slams shut, then reopens, whipping past him, smashing against the adjacent bulkhead to his right like a giant, vertical mousetrap.
Before he can leap through the passage, the door swings back again, closing halfway. Sorceress will not allow him anywhere near the bulkhead to plant another charge.
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