Hamish X Goes to Providence Rhode Island (17 page)

“I don't know what to say,” Hamish X admitted finally. “I came here for my own reasons and they have nothing to do with any prophecy. I just need to … Well, I have my own reasons for being here, that's all. I don't believe in prophecies and I don't believe in fate! And these two …” He indicated Thomas and Maggie with a dismissive wave of his hand. “These two aren't even supposed to be here! They should be at home with their mother and father!”

“Whatever,” Thomas said, grabbing a piece of flatbread and taking a big bite.

“You need backup,” Maggie said firmly. “That's why we're here.”

Hamish X rolled his eyes and fell silent.

Harik turned to the brother and sister. “You were very brave.”

“We did what we had to do,” Thomas said, taking a moment to wipe his greasy chin with his sleeve.

“Yes, I see that,” Harik said, continuing to look at Hamish X. “I just have one question.”

“What's that?” Hamish X asked.

“If you don't believe in the prophecy and you don't believe in fate, then tell me … Why are you here? At this time and in the desert, what are you doing? Where are you going? I realize we have a rather lovely oasis here. I would hazard to say that it is worth taking over a ship and stealing a helicopter to get here. But something tells me you must have a different destination in mind. So, I ask you again, where exactly are you going?”

“Why should I be going anywhere in particular? Maybe I'm just out for a little sightseeing.”

“Ah, my friend. We have another saying among my people: ‘If it walks like a camel and smells like a camel and groans like a camel … burn its dung.' I know we have only just met, but I want you to trust me. Whatever your goal is, we will help you. My people are a people of honour. I promise you, we will not harm or hinder you, but rather we will help if it is within our power. I believe that by helping you, we help ourselves. Thus the prophecy will be fulfilled.”

Hamish X didn't answer right away. Thomas and Maggie were watching him intently, along with Harik and
all the Bedouin sitting around the fire. He took a deep breath.

“I'm looking for someone,” he admitted. “I have reason to believe he is nearby.”

“I see.” Harik brought a hand to his chin and stroked his wiry beard. “This someone, does he have a name?”

“He's a doctor. I was told he was in this area, providing medical help to poor villagers. His name is Professor Magnus Ballantyne-Stewart.”

Harik frowned. He turned to his tribe and spoke. Hamish X heard the Professor's name spoken. The others shook their heads. Harik shrugged. “There have been many doctors coming through here. There is a war raging and many people are driven from their homes. Our opponents try to discourage the doctors and aid workers from coming, but they are brave people. He may be among the doctors in the area, but I have not heard this name.”

Hamish X reached for his backpack and dug out the green leather
Great Plumbers
book. He pulled the heavy file King Liam had given him after their basketball game from the centre of the book where he had stuffed it for safekeeping. Setting aside the book, he opened the folder and pulled out the photo of the Professor that had been taken at the unknown airstrip. He held it out to Harik, who took it in one brown hand, tilting it so that the firelight illuminated the picture.

Harik's eyes widened. “You say there is no fate and no destiny? Ha! I have seen this man. He is one of the international doctors treating the sick and injured in the area. The last I heard, he was at the village of El Arak.”

Hamish X's heart leapt. “That's fantastic. Is it far?” He jumped to his feet, eager to leave that very instant.

“It is not far from here, a night's ride through the desert. We know the place well, Hamish X, because as fate would have it, El Arak is our ancestral home. The evil ones occupy it as we speak, holding all those within, our women and children alike, hostage.”

Hamish X retrieved the picture, the file, and his book, repacking them in his backpack. Satisfied, he heaved his belongings over his shoulder and smiled at Harik. “Call it prophecy, fate, or just dumb luck,” he said. “It seems we have a common goal. Let's go!”

Harik raised a hand. “Hold, my friend. We have a saying: ‘He who jumps into a dark hole is instantly blind and may break a leg.'” Harik thought for a moment. “That's a bit of a lame proverb, but it makes good sense. El Arak has been the scene of much fighting recently. It is an ancient stronghold, built into a cliff. The latest reports say that mercenaries
⁶⁷
in the employ of the ODA have taken over the village and hold hostages. Your doctor is among them, I fear.”

“Mercenaries? Hired by the ODA? What possible interest could they have in this barren wasteland?” Thomas asked.

“It might seem barren to some, but beneath the desert sands are minerals that the ODA require for some important project. They hired the mercenaries to secure the area
for their mining operations. They have turned El Arak, already a formidable fortress, into an armed camp.”

Hamish X groaned and sank back down beside the fire. “I don't believe it. Can this whole journey become any more difficult? I just want to ask him some questions.” Hamish X stamped the sand as a sign of his annoyance, his boots flaring in the blue flame. “I've already had to fight a gang of slavers, steal a helicopter, and fly across the desert, and now I have to get into a stronghold guarded by evil mercenaries?”

“Life is unfair,” Harik said softly. “But all is not hopeless. We have an old saying: ‘If all you have is a bucket full of sand, be thankful at least you have something to carry the sand in.' Why bother going after this doctor? Is it really that important?”

Hamish X looked down at his boots and then up at the star-encrusted black velvet of the night sky. He sighed. “Yes. Yes, it really is that important. I must speak with him if I am ever going to be free.” He dusted the sand off his trousers and picked up his pack. “Do me a favour. Take care of these two?” He swept his hand towards Thomas and Maggie. They immediately began to protest.

“No way!” We aren't leaving!” Maggie snapped.

“Yeah.” Thomas crossed his arms. “We've come this far. We want to see how it ends.”

Hamish X was about to argue with them when Harik stood. “Before anyone decides anything, we will show you El Arak. That may make your decision for you.” Harik rose to his feet and shouted something to his comrades. Camels, harnesses, and saddles were brought from behind the large dunes. Minutes later, Hamish X, Maggie, and Thomas were trotting through the sand under the moonlight in the company of Harik and his warrior tribe.

Chapter 18

PARVEEN

Parveen scuttled like a mouse through the walls of ODA Headquarters. Using the ventilation shafts as his personal transportation system, he moved silently under the very noses of the ODA. Grey Agents went about their business without the slightest notion that they were being observed, their movements recorded, and their actions catalogued and correlated.

Parveen's plan of action was in fact a plan of no action. He had decided that he must observe his opponents and find a way to exploit their weaknesses. In the days that he had huddled behind access grates watching his quarry, he had come to realize one thing: the disturbing apparatus in the main chamber was the centre of all their operations. To strike a crippling blow against the gate would in turn cripple the ODA.

There were a number of problems facing Parveen as he sat in his little lair, cataloguing his notes and observations. How could he destroy the gate? Explosives would do the trick. He believed he knew where to obtain them in the storerooms of the ODA compound. The armoury was located on the lowest level. Unfortunately, electronic and robotic warders as well as a number of Grey Agents guarded it: a problem, but not an insurmountable one. He had some ideas in that direction.

Destroying the gate might be possible through tampering with the main computers. He had yet to get close enough to observe the mainframe, but given some luck and a little courage, that was also possible.

The only real worry was escaping with his sister and as many of the other prisoners as he could. Would the destruction of the gate bring about the immediate destruction of the whole ODA Headquarters? If he destroyed the gate, did it follow that the Grey Agents would cease to function, or would they remain as dangerous as ever? He didn't know the answers to these questions. He needed more information.

He reviewed his notes and decided it was time to make a move. He had a limited number of hamster bombs in his backpack. They were saved as a last resort. If he used one on a Grey Agent inside the compound, he was certain there would be a general alert. He had to make a choice: the gate and its computer or the armoury. He ruminated on the choices while eating a last protein bar he had found in the bottom of his bag. The bar was a welcome change from the nutrient syrup. Swallowing the final morsel, he made his decision: he would go for the armoury first. Without raw materials, he would not be able to take the computer offline.

He felt better now that he had a distinct goal. Pulling on the hood of his sneaky suit and donning his goggles, he checked his tools and his backpack one last time, taking out a single hamster bomb and tucking it into his pocket. Thus prepared, he ventured off down the main shaft.

He padded softly along the shaft, stopping twice to allow maintenance robots to trundle by, pressing himself against the wall to avoid detection. The robots never registered his presence, leading him to believe that they
were not monitored directly by the Grey Agents. The ODA probably never imagined anyone would ever infiltrate their inner sanctum, so they were not specifically looking for intruders.
Their arrogance and overly developed sense of invulnerability could be used against them,
Parveen mused. He watched the second robot trundle away down the shaft and a thought struck him: the Grey Agents paid absolutely no attention to the army of service robots that wandered around the facility. The automatons were practically invisible. That may come in handy. He mentally jotted a note to that effect before heading off to the grate that led out into the main catwalk.

Waiting until the catwalk was relatively clear of traffic, he pushed the grate outward and slipped through, crouching and looking around. He'd had a close call when Mr. Sweet had almost seen him that one time. He had learned to stay as still as possible until he could move without anyone looking directly in his vicinity. The sneaky suit had trouble blending in with the background when that background shifted swiftly. Parveen pressed himself up against the grey wall and stood still for a moment.

He took a look out across the vast chamber at the gate that pulsed softly with its nauseating radiance. Even at this distance, the sight still made him feel ill. The chamber floor was busy as ever. The Grey Agents didn't seem to need extended periods of sleep. At least, they didn't follow any pattern of night and day as human beings tended to do. They worked around the clock without rest.

Parveen took a few deep breaths and tried to remain calm. He hated being out in the open, sneaky suit or not. He was certain that his luck would soon run out. Someone would see him or trip over him and he would be caught.
He pushed his fears aside and waited for someone to pass by on the way to the elevators.

After what seemed like hours, a Grey Agent in a combat jumpsuit strolled by on his way to the plain metal elevator doors. Parveen allowed him to get a few metres ahead before trotting off after him. The Grey Agent strode purposely to the elevator and stopped in front of the doors. He punched a small keypad beside the door, his overlong fingers dancing quickly over the keys as Parveen crept up to within a metre of his back.

The elevator was the only way to get down to the lowest level of the facility. All the ventilation shafts were fitted with proximity alarms and stout steel grating. Parveen believed that, with time, he could have circumvented the alarms, but he would have needed an acetylene torch to burn through the metal grating. Therefore, the elevator was the only option. He would have preferred to crack the code on the keypad lock that protected the elevator and ride down himself, but he decided against it in the end. Even if the sneaky suit had withstood security scrutiny, he imagined that the arrival of a seemingly empty elevator on the lowest level would have sparked undue curiosity. Parveen watched the Grey Agent manipulate the keypad. He wished he could just watch and steal the code, but each Grey Agent seemed to have a different one and the writing on the keypad was not in any alphabet that Parveen had ever seen. There were strange characters on the keys, and he theorized that the Grey Agents had colour codes that registered only in spectra peculiar to their otherworldly eyes. In the end, Parveen had chosen the more dangerous but sure method of sneaking onto the elevator with another rider.

The Grey Agent finished punching the keys and stood back as the elevator door whooshed open. He stepped
into the elevator car. As he did so, he heard a rattle and a clink in the rear corner of the cabin. He turned and bent over, finding a small metal screw lying on the floor. He plucked it from the ground and held it up between the thumb and forefinger of one grey-gloved hand. He tilted his head from side to side, puzzling over the tiny screw. He turned his goggled eyes to the ceiling of the car, trying to see if there was an obvious place the screw might have fallen from. Finding no clue as to the screw's origin, he pressed a finger to the side of his head.

“This is Mr. Pastille. Log a request for a maintenance check on the main elevator.”

“Acknowledged,” came the reply in his ear.

He nodded and tucked the screw into his pocket, watching the doors slide closed.

For the thousandth time Parveen silently thanked heaven that he'd thought to bring along the sneaky suit. Without it he would have been sunk long ago. He had taken a screw from the ventilation shaft cover, and the little object had provided him with the distraction he needed to board the elevator car behind Mr. Pastille. Now he stood pressed against the back wall praying that the Grey Agent would not turn around.