Leviathan (19 page)

Chesterton paused, silent.
“Does that mean what I think it means, Frank?” he asked finally.

With a slow blink Frank replied,
“That means all the corridor vaults have shut automatically, Colonel. And they can't be reopened as long as GEO is tracking Leviathan outside the holding chamber.”

Emergency lights blinked on, eerily red; the entire Headquarters Cavern was lit with a dark scarlet glow. Trying to contain a sudden fear, Connor leaned forward.
“Frank ... does that mean that the vault at the elevator shaft has shut down? Is the elevator shaft closed?”

Frank stared, fearful.

“Yes, Mr. Connor. It means we're locked in this cavern.”

* * *

Chapter 14

Make contact with my other platoons!” Chesterton bellowed, and Barley was instantly on the radio, calling out. Still shaken from the climactic battle, Chesterton whirled to Frank. “Is there another vault at the opposite end of that corridor where my men were stationed? Is that thing locked in Alpha Passage, or can it still get to my other platoons?”

“
All the passages led to the Containment Cavern,” Frank said, bowing his head. “The company never installed vaults at the far end where the tunnels converge in the cavern.”

Chesterton's anger intensified dramatically.
“Are you telling me – “ He pointed to the vault, “– that if my platoons didn't make it out of those tunnels before those vaults closed they're trapped inside the tunnel with that thing?”

Eyes closed, Frank nodded.

“Barley!” Chesterton roared. “Can't you raise Charlie and Beta Squads on the A-unit? Get me some response!”

Disciplined and controlled, the muscular lieutenant kept keying the handheld radio, calling for a response. Finally there was a chaotic reply engulfed with gunfire, shouting, panic. Then a scream of human terror erupted but words couldn't be distinguished—only explosions and the cries of men dying in pain and terror, suddenly overcome by a volcanic roar.

Chesterton violently snatched the A-unit from Barley's hand. “Alpha and Beta this is Chesterton! This is Chesterton!”

“P
ull back and fortify! Pull back and fortify! Do you read me?”

Silence.

Trembling, Chesterton keyed the microphone. “Charlie and Beta, this is Chesterton! Pull back and fortify! Pull back and fortify! Key the mike if you read me!” He released the mike, waiting. Then for the briefest moment a howling cry came over the radio, a horrifying expression of human suffering that was overcome by a bloodthirsty roar, bestial and merciless.

It died abruptly.

Chesterton's hand was white on the radio. “Charlie and Beta this is Chesterton! I repeat! Pull back and fortify! Pull back ...” His voice cracked. “Pull back and fortify!”

Frowning, Connor bowe
d his head. Then he sensed something above them and he looked up, searching. Vaguely he saw faint tendrils of smoke crossing the high darkness, a blackened cloud of burnt flesh traveling through the cavern like the ghosts of scorched souls.

Almost staggering, Chesterton made another effort to speak into the microphone, but his voice had lost all strength.
“Give me some response! Charlie and Beta this is Chesterton! Respond if able! Respond if able!” He waited without moving. “Respond!”

A long pause, longer. Chesterton somberly lowered the radio to his side, staring at nothing.
Frank shook his head, eyes dimming. “They're gone, Colonel.”

Chesterton stared a moment more, face hard
ening. He wordlessly handed the radio to Barley, who took it in a strong hand and lowered it stoically to his side.

Silent, the big lieutenant turned his head to stare at the titanium vault. His dark eyes narrowed, focused and concentrated and enraged. His face was the purity of murder, of revenge.

He held his rifle close as he turned away.

***

The midnight sun, blood-red on the horizon, made Thor turn. He had waited all day, nervous and uneasy. He had long passed worry, settling into something darker, deeper.

Then a trembling wind passed over his back, causing Thor's skin to tighten at more than cold. It scattered across his bearskin, white and freezing, but Thor stood solid as stone, searching the sky, though in his heart he was searching no more. He knew what was there.

The scarlet sun seemed to separate the thin ribbon of smoke from the natural darkness, painting it a darker red. Against the somber image, Thor moved, equally somber, to enter the tower. He said nothing to the patient and loyal Tanngrisner as he climbed the steps to enter the upper chamber.

Stoically, Thor lifted his cloak and draped it across his shoulders. He moved to the bed, lifting his hunting rifle. A box of ammo went into his black woolen pocket and, with no expression, he moved to the mantle, pausing before the smoldering flames.

His face was sad, somber, and silent. He gazed up at the great battle-ax, the mythic weapon that had hung so patiently above the flames for so many long, long years, its crescent blades dull gray and red in the flame, the slow-dying sun.

Perhaps twice as old as the tower itself, the gigantic, double-bladed battle-ax had always been here, had been here even before Thor found it buried deep beneath a heap of overturned stones, secured high in the tower like hidden treasure.

The great weapon had been ravaged by centuries of rust and cold, but Thor had somehow sensed its strength as he pulled it free of the stones. And with the tireless dedication of a scholar copying a holy text he had carefully restored its strength, heating iron needles in the coals and patiently scraping away the rust until corruption surrendered to glory. Then when the great, sweeping blades were finally restored, silver in majesty, Thor knew that it was a truly great weapon, yes, a great weapon from a great age.

Iron flame had forged its heart, the hammer and anvil its strength. The master craftsman who shaped its form and etched the scenes of battle on the blade itself had given it purpose and meaning.

Upon one crescent blade was the image of a flaming chariot, a chariot commanded by a frightening, fantastic bearded figure who hurled lightning from either hand to strike a gigantic serpent rising from the sea. On the other side of the blade was an exquisitely detailed war scene of winged warriors, all battling with sword and lance beneath the galactic wings of a great dragon that wrapped its tail around the moon. And yet the dragon, though ultimately fierce and terrifying, was doomed to defeat because a fearless warrior grimly gripped the monstrous throat with both hands and was driving the fanged mouth down, down from the stars ... to the earth ...

A moment of power.

For many years the great battle-ax had rested comfortably in Thor's hand as he listened to distant wind whispering in the tower, whispering. Thor had come to find quiet companionship in its presence, as if they shared the same temper, heart, and spirit.

Silence, flames smoldering.

Yes, Thor thought, the same spirit.

Ageless and enduring, the battle-ax had rested on the wall for the long years, and Thor had often watched it, watched it with sad eyes when he was lonely in the cold night, haunted by silence and memories and dreams. But Thor had never been truly alone. For he had forever sensed a deeper purpose in the battle-ax, a purpose he knew also in his heart.

Now he stared upon it once more as the winter sun burned deep in the gray steel, soft and slowly glowing. And somehow Thor knew at last why he had found it here. Knew why it had always been here.

Waiting.

With a dark gaze Thor focused on the scene of battle— dragon and man, forever and ever, on the earth. Then his ice-green eyes blinked sadly as he reached up to grasp the battle-ax with his strong right hand.

Wind whispered in the tower ...

Old guardian of the people
...

Thor frowned, nodding.

Lifted it from its rest.

* * *

Beth glanced at Jordan. The tiny figure was covered with a blanket and fast asleep and she didn't want to wake him up. She wanted him to sleep through it all. To sleep until it was over.

After Connor had stormed out of the cavern, Barley had secured for her a private room inside the Housing Complex. But one of the Ranger guards, a sergeant, had objected to the unauthorized procedure, and Barley had turned on the man with an absolutely stunning display of verbal brutality, causing the sergeant to step backward. Then Barley had ushered Beth into the room, locked the door, and ordered that she not be disturbed.

Afterwards Barley ordered the sergeant to escort Connor to the Command Center and then turned on a private to deliver orders that he secure this cavern, alone. The private nodded quickly, accepting the orders without any objections whatsoever. And then there had been the explosion and the chaos at the Containment Cavern, when Barley had raced away.

Since then Beth had been furiously decoding the lockout. But it was difficult because it was an encryption system, and she had to replay from the copied commands of the disk—which translated into something like glob-hits of megabyte blasts—into the relay station by coded single strokes. It was something she had never seen, and it confused her. Then she decided to break down the glob-bytes little by little and re-assimilate them in an image code that could be overlaid upon the NSA imprint, like a mirror, to unlock the relay.

It was a massive task and she was forced to network a dozen
Clays utilizing the combined memory. To further hasten the process she fast-designed a unique program that allowed quad-processing of the encryption so that it could be simultaneously attacked from various dimensions. Then she sat back, letting the program work.

She knew she could break the code, but she needed a lot of time unless Frank could somehow order GEO to turn the full scope of its phenomenal power toward the encryption. For, although she had never actually seen the supercomputer, she was confident that if GEO ever challenged this high-tech encryption, this high-tech encryption would not be coded for long.

But she didn't have access to GEO, so she rested, not particularly worried about being locked in the cavern with almost forty men. Most of them were rather unobtrusive scientific sorts, and she felt she could handle them easily enough. And Barley, when enraged, was a terrifying figure, and he had bellowed an order that no one disturb her. For any reason.

Barley's sheer force of will among the weak was a great influence, and Beth made a mental note to thank him if they survived. She turned her mind to Connor and the pain of not knowing what was happening to him sliced sharply through her heart.

If Connor were dead, she knew, then she was dead too. But she also knew that he might be alive and fighting, fighting as he always fought for them. It gave her small comfort to know that if Connor were fighting to defend his family, he would be giving this thing the most ferocious fight of its life.

She closed her eyes with emotion as she remembered all the terrible, terrible times they had shared in their marriage, living at first in virtual poverty with no hopes and no future. But Connor had set his unbreakable will to working and working and working, sacrificing all his strength and life and heart to make for them a good life.

Sometimes he had held three or four jobs at a time to labor without end, until he had finally paid all the bills and had actually begun building a future they would never have known without his strength of heart. His family had been all that mattered to him, and Connor had proven it with his life and blood, year after year after year.

Beth leaned her head back, her entire soul in the single tear that touched the corner of her eye.
“Such a heart,” she whispered, shaking her head as the tear moved softly down her cheek. “Such a heart ...”

Pain was all there was, but Beth refused to release it. It came and it went through her, hot and wet and burning and she couldn't stop it. But she gave nothing to it, either. She would give nothing at all until she knew whether Connor was dead or alive. Until then she would hope. And wait.

A soft knock at the door.

Beth opened her eyes, considering. Then there was another soft knock, and she rose to her feet, walking forward. Hesitantly she cracked the door to see the old scientist, the one called Hoffman, standing demurely. The old man held a pipe in his pale hand, a gray stream of lazy smoke spiraling through the red emergency light.

“Mrs. Connor?'' he asked gently.

Beth blinked. Nodded.

“I don't wish to disturb you.” Hoffman motioned behind himself; the guard could not be seen. “I have been waiting for a chance to speak with you. I hope you are successful in what you are attempting.”

Beth said nothing, but something in the old man's bent stance raised her affection.

“Might I come in for a moment?” Hoffman asked, a tired smile. “I have very, very few allies in this cavern. I thought that we might speak for a moment as friends.”

A pause, but Beth trusted her instincts. She opened the door slightly to allow him in. Then she closed it and locked it again as the old man sat tiredly upon a chair. He seemed fatally fatigued. Although Beth didn't know what he wanted, she didn't fear him.

“Do you know anything yet?” she asked.

“
No, my dear.” Hoffman shook his head, holding his pipe close. “No, we do not know anything. This – ” He gestured to the cathedral's ceiling, “ – cavern has shut itself down, so to speak. All the corridors are locked, so we cannot go anywhere. And as you well know, the phone lines are down. We cannot communicate with the outside world. Nor do we know what has happened to the rest of the men. They may very well be alive, you know. Colonel Chesterton is quite resourceful.”

Beth said nothing, but her face tightened. Without looking down she stroked Jordan's hair. Hoffman was silent for a long while, his pipe making an occasional, soft whistle as he pulled puffs from the large black bowl. He appeared to want to talk but gazed somberly at the tile floor, as if uncertain of whether he was
welcome or not. Beth was touched by his sense of sadness. She sniffed, looking up.