The Lucifer Code (31 page)

'I guess we both will,' she said.

Hanging in the gusting air, looking down into the gloom, she thought, This is it. I'm going to die. I'm actually going to die. At last.

She felt no fear: instead there was anger and a burning sense of injustice. She also experienced a sudden and surprising stab of sadness for Fleming and herself, which filled her with a wistful sense of what might have been.

Miles knew he was near the end, but inches to his left he could see a tantalizingly close series of handholds in the form of a line of proud rivets running down a vertical seam in the pipe. Just above his feet the bottom of the pipe was curled into a broad lip, which formed the perfect foothold if he could just raise his feet high enough to perch on it. But with Amber's body weight pulling him down, these havens, inches away, might as well have been miles out of reach. He would only find safety if he released Amber's rope, but after Rob he wasn't about to cut any ropes and help anyone else go to their death.

'I guess we've all got to die some time,' he heard Amber say. There was no fear in her voice but he detected sadness. And a frustration that matched his indignation.

'Yep. We're going to die some day,' he muttered, through clenched teeth, 'but it's not going to be today'

*

The red sector

Frank Carvelli was not a brave man: he had poise, a certain presence when required, but this wasn't one of those situations. Following Bradley Soames down into the red sector made his bowels feel loose. He had never been to this part of the VenTec Foundation before and was unsure of the dubious privilege of being invited down here now.

Carvelli had always prided himself on his ability to turn events to his advantage by understanding the ebb and flow of human needs and desires. His media and film production empire was founded on it: he knew what the public wanted and could charm his business partners. His affiliation with the Red Pope had done wonders for the KREE8 profile: his company's presentation technology had helped the world's first electronic Church come into existence and his grasp of public relations and producing movies had allowed him to guide Accosta's use of the technology to make an already media-friendly personality into a phenomenon.

But if Accosta's Church had provided the opportunity to showcase KREE8's products on the world stage, Bradley Soames had provided the technological expertise and resources to maximize them. Without Soames and VenTec's research input, KREE8 would have remained unexceptional in the communications technology arena.

Carvelli thought he had played Soames well, convincing the man to give him the fruits of his genius for a fraction of their market value, all in the name of helping the Red Pope's grand plan, the Soul Project. But now he realized that in fact Soames had managed him. It was becoming increasingly evident that Soames had manipulated everyone, including the Red Pope, to satisfy his own agenda. Whatever that agenda was.

'Put these on,' Soames ordered, handing him a pair of eye protectors. As the elevator stopped, Carvelli could see a blue-white light leaking in beneath the door. Soames was rearranging his clothing to cover his skin, and by the time the doors opened he resembled a cowled monk.

'Do you understand what this is?' Soames asked, as Carvelli stood on the steel gantry and looked down the borehole into the sphere of pulsating light energy.

Carvelli stared at the orb for some moments before replying. He marvelled at the sparks flickering inside the sphere like sunspots. As his eyes became accustomed to the light he noticed the laboratories that encircled the orb. Through the curved tinted viewing windows of one he could see a replica of Fleming's NeuroTranslator and Soames's soul-capture head-sphere. But the main viewing area was decked out with consoles and monitors, and a host of peripheral equipment. 'It's a computer,' he whispered, in awe of the vast power the twenty-foot-diameter sphere must contain. 'It's a huge optical computer.'

'It's more than that, Frank. Far more.' Soames's voice changed. His usual aloof detachment was gone, replaced by pride. 'This is our Lord's power made manifest, the instrument for spreading his dark enlightenment across the globe. This furnace of white-hot heat and light will forge the four nails to be hammered into the coffin of faith. Through its power the four signs promised by Satan and revealed by the Red Pope's lost soul will be delivered.'

Carvelli's anxiety increased. It was all he could do to stop himself shaking. His voice didn't sound like his own when he said, 'That's why you weren't surprised by the Red Pope's revelation. You already knew who our master was, because you've always served him.' He was horrified by the depths of Soames's deceit.

There was a sound to his left and Carvelli turned to see the elevator door open. Bukowski and Tripp stepped out, followed by the wolves, their muzzles caked with blood.

Amber and Miles?' Soames demanded, as the wolves moved to stand beside him.

Her face impassive, Bukowski shook her head. 'No sign. The wolves returned without finding them. They've probably fallen off the mountain. And, if not, it's unlikely they'll survive. The weather's getting worse, and although Amber Grant's many things, she isn't a climber.'

'But Miles is,' said Soames.

Carvelli ignored the exchange. He was still trying to come to terms with Soames's agenda. 'You've always served Satan,' he said again, as if hoping that by repeating it the revelation would become less shocking.

'No,' barked Bukowski and Tripp in unison, turning on Carvelli as if he had uttered a blasphemy.

'Don't you understand?' demanded Bukowski, with a chilling half-smile as she and Tripp looked towards Soames. 'We serve him.'

Turning to the cowled figure of Soames, who was silhouetted with his wolves against the bright light radiating from the sphere, Carvelli's bowels loosened. He couldn't help it: he had never known fear like this before. 'Who are you?'

'Who do you think I am?' Soames answered.

Whimpering, Carvelli could only stare. Suddenly he understood, with sickening, terrifying clarity.

Soames stepped towards him. 'Now, let me explain why Amber and Miles can't be allowed to threaten what's in place.'

Trembling, smelling the reek of his own fear, Carvelli listened.

'Now that you understand everything, only one question remains,' Soames said, when he had finished. Are you with me or, like Virginia, against me?'

Carvelli looked at Soames and then at the wolves, standing tense beside him. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't function. All he could do was kneel and hang his head in submission.

'Would you do something for me?' Soames asked.

Anything,' Carvelli rasped. Anything at all.' Soames nodded with satisfaction. 'Take the helicopter to Fairbanks. You can use my plane from there. It's a little matter. An extra insurance policy'

Climbers call the phenomenon the third-man syndrome: the sense, when climbing in pairs, of an invisible but benign guiding presence. Arctic explorers have reported the same sensation. Fleming had experienced it on a few occasions with his brother, usually when they were exhausted, hungry and at the end of their endurance. Afterwards, Rob always confirmed that he had felt it too.

This time it was different. As Fleming gripped the ice pick handles, his joints and muscles burning, there was no third presence. But even as his hands numbed and it became hard to breathe he did feel something: the strange sensation of strong hands closing around his wrists. Husbanding his remaining reserves he prepared for one last desperate lift, hoping he could gain enough height to plant his feet on the bottom of the pipe and take the weight off his arms.

He hadn't been able do it before when he was relatively fresh, but now he had nothing to lose. He gritted his teeth, tensed his biceps and tried to raise his body. He strained as hard as he could but barely lifted himself an inch. Then he felt the hands around his wrists grip him tighter, as though supporting him.

He pulled with every vestige of strength he had left and raised his right leg as high as he could. To his surprise his foot came to rest on the lip of the pipe. A burst of energy surged through him. He brought his other foot on to the lip, then reached across for the handholds provided by the rivets.

Pausing momentarily for breath, terrified that if he stopped for long his new-found energy might leak away, he clambered up the holds supplied by the rivets using his boots, crampons and ice picks for purchase, lifting his and Amber's weight higher up the pipe.

With each inch gained his strength seemed to grow, until he found himself back in the horizontal section of pipe and could hear Amber scrabbling over the lip, gaining her own purchase on the metal. When the rope went slack and they were safe, his strength evaporated and he rolled on to his back. Seconds later Amber was bending over him, her eyes wide with concern and something else: something he couldn't place.

'How did you do that?' she asked.

He was too breathless to speak.

'That was impossible.'

'Strange things happen in the mountains,' he rasped.

She laughed at that and despite Fleming's exhaustion, a core of hope glowed within him.

He pulled himself to his feet and took Amber's arm. 'We can't hang about here. We need to get to the refinery and find our way down to the rangers' station.'

After the initial elation had subsided, Amber didn't care how Fleming had saved them. The fact that he had was enough.

Retracing their steps to the fork, they headed in what they hoped was the direction of the refinery. As they walked on in the darkness, it dawned on her that although he knew her medical past and most of the significant events in her life, she knew little about him, but before she could question him he said, 'It's pretty clear to me that what we heard and saw was no hoax. I've seen the technology -hell, I developed some of it - and one of the signs that Accosta's soul predicted has already manifested itself. But you aren't convinced, are you?'

'I had another dream,' she said, 'but I know what you think of my dreams . . .'

Fleming grinned. 'I deserved that. But that was then and this is now. I've become a lot more open-minded. Tell me about your dream - or whatever it was.'

'Like you, I believe the Red Pope's announcement wasn't a hoax, but I also think it wasn't the only truth or all the truth.'

'Why?'

'Because I think... I know I've seen what happens after death. I know where my sister's gone because she showed me. I can't go into specifics because what I saw was indescribable -but she's gone to a good place. Not only did I see it, l felt it. It's a place beyond suffering. A safe, sunlit plane where the shadow of pain can't reach. The nearest I can get to describing it is as a state of bliss.'

Fleming was staring at her, his face luminous with fresh hope. She knew he was thinking of his brother and wanted to reassure him, as Ariel had reassured her. 'All I know,' she said softly, 'is that what I saw wasn't the hopeless, damned place the Red Pope described.'

'I want to believe you,' he said.

She smiled. 'Well, believe me. All you need is faith.'

Fleming gave a noncommittal shrug. 'What I can't figure out is why Bradley revels in the Red Pope's announcement. It's like he wanted it, hoped for it.'

Amber struggled to bring into focus a bunch of unformed thoughts that swirled in the back of her mind. 'I know,' she said. 'That worries me too. And that's why we've got to get word out because I've a scary feeling he's enjoying this.'

A gust of cold wind blew across them and Fleming's arm shot out to stop her walking any further forward. 'This must be the end of the pipe.' He pointed ahead and Amber could see moonlight and stars. 'The storm seems to have passed. Look, you can see what's left of the refinery out there.'

She was relieved to see that the pipe led out on to level ground, although it was thick with snow and the lower section of the exit was submerged in a drift. Beyond it, looming in the moonlight, she could make out the framework of various unfinished structures, including two vast cylindrical cages, designed to house oil-storage tanks. 'It's so cold out there,' she said. 'Why don't we stay in here and get some rest before heading off in the morning? We've still got time before the next signs appear.' She glanced hopefully at Fleming.

'Okay,' he said. 'We can eat some of our rations from the bag and get some sleep. There's some warmth in here but it's going to get pretty cold once we stop moving and the energy in our kinetic boots runs out. We'll be okay if we huddle up close, though.'

She kept her voice deadpan. 'I've experienced worse horrors recently'

*

Atlantic Ocean

Further south, day had dawned, and Carvelli sat wide awake in the only occupied passenger seat of Soames's private jet as it sped to London. He felt as if he would never sleep again. He had only one aim: to fulfil his mission.

He dismissed any notion of defying Soames or running away. There was nowhere he could run to-in this life or the next. Just thinking about Soames and what he'd told him made Carvelli break out in a sweat. His once immaculate appearance was deteriorating: his skin was pale and blotchy, his hair dishevelled and his black clothing rumpled.

The phone rang in the armrest of his leather seat, making him jump. He picked it up. 'Yes?'

'I was told to ring this number,' said a mild Scottish accent. 'I understand you're to collect a package and it isn't to be harmed.'