Dark Rising (37 page)

Adira groaned, and Alex went over to her and lifted her head. ‘Slowly, slowly, we’re safe now. I think it’s all over.’

Adira sat forward and put her elbows on her knees and drew in some deep breaths. ‘It’s over? Where’s Zach?’

Alex exhaled slowly through his nose and wiped sand from her cheek before responding. ‘I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.’

Adira’s eyes went a little dead for a moment, then she looked up at the sky. ‘No one weeps for heroes in Israel anymore, Alex. The tears would drown us all.’

Alex allowed the silence to stretch, giving her time to recover. He looked around at the horizon and then back down to her. ‘I think we’re lost.’ He raised his brows at Sam.

Sam shook his head. ‘It’s all fused, nothing works.’ He dropped the useless scanners and communication devices to the sand. ‘But it still looks like Iran to me.’

Adira looked up at the branches above them. ‘That’s a wild desert fig tree – they only grow to this size near Kashan. I have people there – we’ll be safe.’

‘Safe.’ Alex tested the word in his mouth. It felt strange, unnatural, and no longer relevant. He now knew there was another world hidden behind the one most people knew. A world where monsters existed, where horrific things crept in the dark, dropped from the sky or slithered up from the depths.

He lay back and closed his eyes against the sun and thought about a beach somewhere on the east coast of Australia. He inhaled salt and heard waves crashing on the sand. ‘Yes, safe now.’
Soon
, he thought,
very soon
.

FIFTY-TWO

G
eneral Meir Shavit sat at his desk, the transcript of Captain Adira Senesh’s debrief in his hands. After his niece’s retrieval from the Iranian desert, she had spent just one hour in hospital having her wounds tended to. While there, she had agreed to a short military interview. The general gave a half-smile; he knew his niece well – there was no way anyone could make her do anything she didn’t want to do.

The black hole technology she detailed in her report was astounding, and he prayed its genesis was an aberration – an invention by accident rather than by design. He also hoped that with the destruction of the laboratory, all knowledge of the technology’s capability and creation had ceased to exist.
Such power is the rightful property of no country
, he thought.

The old man sat back and looked at the ceiling for a moment, his eyes tracing the plaster flowers in the ornate moulding. Humans were creative and self-destructive in equal measures, and once they had managed to imagine something, it was only a matter of time until they brought it into existence.
We have merely bought ourselves some time
, he thought.

He drew a deep breath, poured himself some more thick, dark coffee, and turned to the last page of Adira’s report, headed ‘EWP – Enhanced Warrior Project’, with a subheading: ‘The Arcadian Subject’. His eyebrows rose slightly as he read her account of the subject’s capabilities. As he had expected, the Americans had sent their secret weapon on the mission and Adira had witnessed it in action. But although she had been close enough to record its features in detail, she hadn’t managed to get any new data, not even a tissue sample. He looked at the grainy photograph she had supplied of the HAWC: Francis ‘Irish’ O’Riordan, a red-haired warrior, according to the report; an awesome soldier in combat. It was a shame he had been vaporised in the explosion.

The general blew air through his closed lips and shook his head. Without any body for the Israelis to retrieve, any samples or concrete evidence, the Americans still held all the cards – while Israel had nothing. He narrowed his eyes. Just because the primary subject was gone, the Arcadian project would not end, he was sure of that. But there was no reason for the Americans to share their results with Israel; they wouldn’t even admit the project existed.

He picked up his cup but held it without drinking. As his mind worked, he looked across the room and caught sight of his aged visage staring back at him from within a long gilded mirror. He continued to stare trance-like at the image as his thoughts turned inwards.
Israel needs these new soldiers
, he mused.
We are the smallest army in the Middle East and surrounded by an ocean of hatred. It is only a matter of time before that ocean drowns us all.
He blinked, and looked down at Adira’s report again.
If Israel cannot have more men, we must make more of the men we have. We need to get a little closer.

He looked again at the transcribing officer’s notation at the foot of the report. Unusually, Adira had requested immediate leave to escort the two Americans to their waiting transport plane.
Hmm, what are you up to, Addy?
Shavit thought. Perhaps there was a bond there, something he could use. He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand; they needed someone inside the Americans’ tent, someone who had already been exposed to the Arcadian’s capabilities . . . Someone Israel could rely on, and someone the Americans trusted.

Yes, she would be perfect. Jack Hammerson owed him, and he wouldn’t be able to refuse a soldier of Captain Senesh’s capabilities.

The general made a small notation in the file and closed it. ‘Your job isn’t quite finished yet, Addy.’

Parvid Davoodi, the newly elected leader of Iran, cleared away the possessions of the former president, preparing the office for his own inhabitation. He picked up a framed picture of a smiling Mahmoud Moshaddam and shook his head. ‘How could you not know that all false prophets go to hell? Though perhaps now you do.’ He dropped the picture into the waste bin beside the desk.

One of Davoodi’s first acts in office had been to call the American president to assure him that the secret facilities at Natanz, Persepolis and Arak would be closed forever. During that conversation he had accepted an invitation to visit the United States – the first time in a generation that an Iranian leader had been invited by an American president onto their soil.
Perhaps this is a new beginning for Iran
, he thought.

He picked up his Qur’an, already open at his favourite page. From an open window, a warm square of sunlight lit the beautiful writing as he began to read.

*

At USSTRATCOM in Nebraska it was night and the weather was not so benign. Rain smashed against the dark window of Hammerson’s office. He was working late, and had turned off the lights so he could enjoy the storm passing over the base. He liked just sitting and watching nature’s power and raw aggression.

The secure phone beeped and he contemplated ignoring it. The mission was a success, but, he guessed, not quite over yet.
Fuck it
. He picked up the call. He squeezed the phone tight when he heard the deep voice on the other end.

‘Arcadian has secured the information as instructed, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s on its way to us now – potential unlimited energy for . . . Yes, sir, we believe weaponisation is possible.’

He listened some more and his eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not sure I agree with that assessment, sir. His value in the field is undeniable. Yes, sir, I understand that, so far, we can’t reproduce his result without a more invasive study, but his capabilities develop every day – there is so much more to learn while he’s active. Once we retire him, that line of research will be lost forever. It is my recommendation that he stay on active duty, sir. His new capability development and this success compels it. Give me another year, sir. Science can wait at least that long.’

Hammerson inhaled and held the breath for a few seconds as he waited and listened. He exhaled when he heard the response.

‘Very good, sir.’

He hung up the phone just as the sky outside flashed, then boomed with rolling thunder. He had managed to extend Alex Hunter’s lifeline for just one more year. For the first time in his life, the Hammer felt old.

EPILOGUE

W
armth, strange scents, the hum of life. Mahmoud Moshaddam opened the capsule door a little farther and more of the thick, humid air rushed in.

He stepped out into a mist-shrouded, boggy landscape lush with ropey vines and twisted vegetation. Bulbous hair-covered leaves and plump fruit-like protuberances hung low from rampant foliage in an impenetrable tangle. He stepped forward and sank to his calves in brackish water. Already his ankles itched as if something were crawling over them.

He reached back into the capsule to open the box that held the small piece of sacred Black Stone. If he was to be judged, he wanted the sacred relic with him to show his worthiness.

He inhaled the earthy odour of rotting vegetation and caught a slight whiff of sharp vinegar and almond. He racked his brain for any references to such a place as this in the Qur’an or the Hadith – could it be Jannah and he just needed to find the bridge to paradise?

Someone was coming; he could hear footfalls in the mud – lots of them, stealthy. The smell of vinegar grew stronger, and the short hairs on the back of his neck rose as his primal instincts went into overdrive. Now he could make out giant shapes in the mist – the Almighty was coming and bringing all the prophets with him.

The president fell to his knees in the mud and started to sing loudly and strongly to show his faith. The shapes stopped just out of sight in the mist, as if waiting for something. The president’s singing slowly tapered off and he held out his hand to show the Black Stone. His knees began to shake in the crawling mud. Something was wrong; this couldn’t be heaven.

When the attack came, it was swift. The mist swirled violently and the creatures came through it from all sides. The largest shot out its raptorial claws and pinned the man face down on the boggy ground. The others darted forward to claim a piece of the body and insert their sharp proboscises. The largest bent its eyestalks towards the man’s face, as if searching for some sign of intelligence. Then its gristly mandibles opened.

The creatures began to feed.