Z. Apocalypse (4 page)

‘And more diverse,’ Marrs agreed. ‘Still, it’s good news that we’ve captured a living specimen. The other Z. beasts involved in the attack got clean away . . .’ The lift slowed to a stop at the top floor, the doors chimed open, and Marrs stepped out briskly into a dark, concrete stairwell that stretched up into shadow.

‘Why are we going
up to the roof?’ asked Adam.

Marrs simply pushed open the door to reveal a helicopter parked incongruously on the wide, flat asphalt. Adam felt a tingle of excitement despite himself.

‘See? Official transport.’ Marrs’ face lit up with a boyish smile. ‘Shall we?’

Adam and his dad followed him over to the ’copter. ‘Where did they take this
Orni . . . Ornitho
 . . .’ Adam scowled. ‘The Z. pterosaur,
where is it now? It seemed like it was really hurt . . .’

‘It won’t be feeling a thing for the time being.’ Marrs opened the door for them. ‘The creature is caged and heavily sedated at a government-owned biological research centre – the Patuxent Research Refuge, near Fort Meade.’

‘The army base where we met Colonel Oldman?’ Adam queried, scrambling inside.

‘Yes. He’s a good chap, Oldman.’
Marrs encouraged Mr Adlar inside, then bundled in beside him and closed the door.

Mr Adlar looked balefully at Marrs. ‘You’re not taking us to any hotel, are you?’

‘You were supposed to meet with members of the National Security Council this evening. After tonight, a good number of military top brass want to sit in on that discussion too.’ The rotor blades hummed and whined as they began scything
the air, and Marrs had to raise his voice to be heard. ‘We’re going to the Pentagon.’

The way Adam’s stomach lurched wasn’t entirely down to the way the helicopter swept away from the rooftop. The Pentagon was, like, one of the most important buildings in the world – the headquarters of the United States Department of
Defense. To be going there now, in the wake of all that had happened . . .

As if things aren’t crazy enough already
.

Adam stared down at the city. The street gridwork was lit by headlights, brake lights and streetlights; an orderly swarm of fireflies. The Washington Monument, pointed like a concrete sword, thrust up at them, and the Potomac River beside it was an artery of black. As they swept over the water Adam recognized the vast concrete huddle of the Pentagon, a
sight familiar to him from a thousand news reports. But only now did he realize that it was actually five pentagonal buildings built one inside the other, all interconnected.

Although it was close to eleven o’clock, the Pentagon’s massive car parks north and south were choked with traffic, and lights were on at almost every window. Adam felt both sick and thrilled as the helicopter descended
towards the white slab of the helipad right outside.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ mused Dr Marrs. ‘The Pentagon workspace covers almost thirty acres. Around twenty-four thousand military and civilian employees work here. It’s a far greater tactical target than the White House.’

‘I don’t think this was about tactics.’ Mr Adlar looked tired and drawn in the ghostly blue light of the ’copter’s interior.
‘It was about making a point.
The President – the most powerful figure in the most powerful nation in the world – was shown to be defenceless.’

Marrs nodded grimly as the helicopter touched down lightly and uniformed figures hurried towards them. ‘The question is, what or who is going to be targeted next?’

Chapter 4: Show of Strength

ADAM, HIS FATHER
and Dr Marrs were led through the Pentagon’s never-ending corridors by two soldiers. The old doctor clutched a battered briefcase to his chest, looking keenly about him the whole time. Intimidated by the thought of the meeting ahead, Adam kept his head down and his hands in his jeans pockets.

The building’s atmosphere was edgy and intense, heavy with
the smell of sweat and coffee and the frenetic squeal and chitter of computer printers. Barked commands and clipped conversations burst from offices, nagging at Adam’s ears.

‘Invisible monsters? Get real. This was some kind of mass hallucination . . .’

‘If we hadn’t literally carried the President by his armpits through the evacuation tunnel he’d have been torn apart . . .’

‘The structural
integrity of the Presidential Emergency Operations Centre has been compromised . . .’

‘Zone P-56, from the Potomac River to downtown Washington, is the most restricted airspace in the world. And yet hostiles converge on the White House in force and the Federal Aviation Administration doesn’t pick up a damned thing . . .?’

‘ . . . YouTube’s overloaded with mobile-phone footage of our men firing
at nothing at all, you realize how weak this makes us look . . .?’

‘ . . . forced to consider the use of poison gas in a future attack, even in civilian areas . . .’

Adam shuddered. The country’s military ego had taken a beating along with the White House. From every doorway he could hear talk of target assessments, counter-attacks, retaliatory strikes.

I always
wanted the world to know about Geneflow
. Adam chewed his lip.
But now that it does, just what is it going to do about it?

After walking about a kilometre, Adam found himself ushered into a large conference room dominated by a huge oval table. Flat-screen TVs lined the walls like dark, square windows. There were half a dozen plush leather chairs at one end of the table and regular seating for everyone else.

Their escorts waited
impassively in the doorway, barring the way out.

Adam sighed and wished that one of those impossible, invisible monsters had been Zed, coming to his rescue.
Where are you?
he wondered.
Last seen leaving Edinburgh almost a year ago
 . . .

Where did you go?

Abruptly, the escorts stood aside as a tall, bald, broad-shouldered man in air force uniform stalked inside. His military braid and ribbons
proclaimed him someone of high rank, and his stern, florid expression screamed
do not mess
at all-comers. Behind him other aides and officers filed in to take their seats. One of them was Colonel Oldman, who nodded smartly in greeting and sat down beside the Big Cheese.

Marrs gestured that the Adlars should sit. Adam took a seat beside his dad and watched uneasily as files and recording devices
were pulled from cases and placed on the table.

‘For those who don’t know me, I am General Winters.’ There was a steely Texan twang to the big man’s voice. ‘Special Security Director of Operations on the President’s personal staff.’ He paused. ‘Tonight, a cherished symbol of our country was destroyed in an attack that for all our reach, for all our intelligence, we never saw coming.’ He looked
hard at the ashen faces around him. ‘But let me assure you, we will retaliate by crushing the terrorist scum responsible. We will not rest until this goal is achieved.’

There were nods around the table and a smattering of heartfelt applause.

‘Colonel Oldman,’ the general went on without
looking up from his notes, ‘what’s the status on the . . .
wildlife
that special ops recovered from the rooftop?’

‘The creature’s been comatose since capture,’ Oldman reported. ‘It’s being housed over at Patuxent. We have contractors building the world’s largest birdcage as I speak, and scientists queuing up to test the hell out of it.’

‘Would those scientists include Eve Halsall?’ asked Dr Marrs.

‘Dr Halsall, the so-called “beast-reader”?’ Mr Adlar looked surprised. ‘I’ve read about her work in science
journals but—’

‘She and her team are setting up their equipment at Patuxent now,’ Oldman broke in. ‘They’re experts in high-level animal communication.’

‘Our civilian guests are experts too,’ General Winters announced, his voice cold and heavy. ‘I’m told by Dr Marrs that Bill Adlar and his son, Adam, have more experience with Geneflow’s experimental war-beasts than anyone.’

Adam shifted in
his seat, uncomfortable as all faces turned his way.

‘That is correct,’ said Dr Marrs briskly, standing up. Still dressed in his winter waterproofs he cut an odd little figure. ‘It was the Adlars’ testimony that first alerted us to the existence of Geneflow.’

‘I thought Geneflow was just a small-time bunch
of weird-science extremists,’ said a female officer, stern and severe. ‘How’d they get
the muscle to pull a stunt like this? Particularly when Colonel Oldman’s report states that they’ve lost two of their key leaders in the last year?’

‘We don’t know how many leaders they have,’ Marrs said dismissively. ‘Or members for that matter. But we know undeniably Geneflow has a well-organized global network working to a clear plan of attack.’

‘Using dinosaurs?’ One of the officers wore
a sour, disbelieving look on his lined face. ‘That
is
what you believe we’re up against here, right? Intelligent dinosaurs?’

‘It’s the men and women behind the dinosaurs we need to worry about,’ said Oldman.

‘Dinosaur is not a helpful label in any case.’ Marrs looked irritated. ‘And it’s a mistake to think of these creatures as intelligent. The Z. beasts are force-evolved animals, programmed
like machines to perform set tasks, using the “Think-Send” system devised by Bill Adlar here.’

‘That’s how I became involved with Geneflow in the first place,’ Mr Adlar mumbled. ‘I developed Think-Send for use in my gaming system, Ultra-Reality. The U-R console sends computer code directly into the brain, creating a virtual world; the player can interact with that world simply by thinking.’

‘But Geneflow adapted the process,’ Marrs added grimly. ‘They used it to educate and equip their prehistoric creatures with advanced skills.’

‘I still don’t see why they bothered to “force-evolve” actual dinosaurs,’ said the female officer. ‘Why not start from scratch with purpose-built monsters?’

‘Because they lacked the know-how,’ Dr Marrs explained. ‘By comparing genetic material from prehistoric
dinosaurs and their present-day ancestors they have studied evolution in action over seventy million years. And now that Geneflow fully understand the process, they can control it.’ He paused impressively. ‘These people possess the power to force-evolve DNA along whatever paths they choose.’

General Winters looked flummoxed. ‘You’re saying they can affect the development of living things?’

‘More than that,’ Marrs informed him. ‘They can actually accelerate an animal’s evolution, push brain and body to their optimum level of development.’

‘That’s how the Z. rex was created,’ Mr Adlar put in. ‘It was designed to be a massively powerful slave animal – a highly capable, precision-controlled, invisible agent of terror.’

‘And you believe that’s what attacked the White House today?’

‘Yes,’ said Adam without hesitation. Everyone
looked at him. ‘I spent weeks with Zed – the first Z. rex, I mean. I learned how to make him out even when he was in stealth mode. Those things were, like, clones of Zed, I know it. Except maybe even bigger.’

‘Clones?’ the woman queried. ‘You mean, living copies?’

‘Geneflow seem to have pioneered a powerful new cloning technique,’ said Marrs, warming
to his subject. ‘DNA taken from the original creature is used to grow a “new” version, and the natural aging of the new version’s cells are accelerated to bring it to maturity—’

‘Put simply,’ Winters interrupted, ‘Geneflow can make any number of identical dinosaur twins.’

‘So they’ve bred an army,’ Oldman murmured.

‘They did that with raptors,’ said Adam. ‘I saw actual dinosaur eggs that Josephs
said were good to hatch. Those ones were destroyed in the end, but—’

‘Josephs?’ the female officer enquired.

‘Samantha Josephs,’ said Oldman. ‘A criminal who specialized in the theft of scientific secrets, and a key director of Geneflow.’ He looked at Adam. ‘Now deceased.’

‘I saw her die. Right next to me.’ Adam looked down at the table as Mr Adlar put a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘Torn
apart . . .’

‘And as we all know now,’ Oldman continued,
‘as well as the Z. raptors, Geneflow have Z. dactyls too.’

Marrs looked aggrieved. ‘That creature is
not
a pterodactyl, it’s—’

‘Never mind the different varieties,’ said Winters. ‘How do we kill these things?’

‘First we should try to understand their purpose,’ said Marrs. ‘After all, the Z. rexes can fly huge distances – so why bother
to create Z. “dactyls”, hmm?’

Blank looks were swapped about the table.

‘Well, now that we’ve caught one, we’re going to find out,’ Oldman declared.

‘Good,’ said Marrs. ‘Because I believe tonight’s incident was a simple show of force. Geneflow’s programme of scientific research is concluded, and they stand ready to make a serious impact on the world stage as the most powerful terrorist group
in existence.’ He surveyed the grim faces surrounding him. ‘I do hope the Patuxent beast can shed some light on what Geneflow are planning. Frankly, I don’t think we have much time left to stop them.’

Chapter 5: Early Morning Call

ADAM WOKE IN
a sweat. It took him a full minute to work out where he was – in an uncomfortable bed at Fort Meade airbase. As he fell back shivering onto his pillow he found he was grateful for the soldiers outside, for the illusion of being safe if nothing more.

The meeting had dragged on for ages, but once Adam and his dad had answered a stack of questions they
were allowed to leave while the conference continued and strategies were hatched. But there was no hope of a hotel – Colonel Oldman had insisted Adam and his dad stay at the army base where they could be easily reached for their ‘ongoing assistance in this matter’.

So here they were in special apartments reserved for new personnel and their families. Not exactly the Hilton, but warm and dry at
least.

Adam’s thoughts soon turned to the enormous flying reptile, drugged and caged up just a couple of kilometres away. He shuddered; it was surely no
coincidence that the only person snatched by one of Geneflow’s creations was the boy who’d helped to mess up their plans twice before. But Adam remembered the look of pain in those dark eyes. The Z. dactyl hadn’t looked like a programmed killer.
More like an animal in distress.