The Menagerie 2 (Eden) (11 page)

Savage looked at Alyssa and shot off an everything-will-be-all-right wink. But she knew better, reciprocating with a false smile of her own.

It’ll be all right
, he tried to convey to her.
Really!

But they knew better.

As Whitaker headed to the fore of the ship to contact Base Command, Savage, Alyssa and O’Connell were led to a part of the ship’s remnant at the prodding of two elite commandos. The deeper they descended the colder it became, with surrounding pockets of Stygian darkness so deep that light could not penetrate them.

At corridor’s end they came upon the remnant’s Master Station. And it was, by all accounts, magnificent.

Even with the point of a gun to her back, Alyssa could feel a cool tingling running along her spine, that chill of excitement and awe.

“Keep moving, Ms. Moore.”

She did, walking into the basking glow of phosphorous green light.

Here sat the ship’s archives, the library and mind of otherworldly information, a set of cyber encyclopedias.

But in the hands of Whitaker it would become something far blacker.

It was about to become a gateway to hell.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Problems?” McCord’s image on the monitor was snowy and gray, the reception growing poorer by the moment.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Expound.”

“O’Connell apparently intuited the hidden agenda from something you or I said. He went to Savage and Moore and tried to get her to destroy the data before the agenda got under way.”

McCord leaned forward, his face barely perceptible. His voice, however, remained very clear. “Data? Did Ms. Moore discover the key? Was she able to interpret the glyphs and symbols?”

“She believes that she discovered the key to open the ship’s archives. Once we’re inside, then we can download and record all the data. We’re setting up as we speak.”

“And O’Connell?”

“Let’s just say that the hidden agenda began earlier than I would have liked.” 

“He’s been dispatched?”

“Let’s say that he’s at least on his way.”

“He was a good man.”

“They’re always good until the moment of their death. We all serve a purpose. He served his.” There was absolutely no compassion when he spoke.

“And what about Ms. Moore and John Savage?”

“For the moment they’re serving their purpose. But when that purpose ends—” he cut himself short, the answer apparent.

“How long will it take to download the data?”

On screen Whitaker shrugged. “It could take anywhere from two hours to two days, who knows.”

“It appears that we have another situation brewing.”

“What’s that?”

“Russian and Chinese subs are closing in on your location, claiming off-shore maneuvers. Obviously that’s not the case.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Whitaker. “They cannot enter Mexico’s maritime border unless Mexico grants them permission, which they won’t.”

“My point is that we’re either getting surveyed by foreign powers, or they’re closing in to intercept data from a covert source on board that ship. Either way this will be our final communication in fear of misappropriation.”

“Understood. Anything else?”

“Yeah. We’re receiving reports that the area is becoming increasingly unstable. Land-based aftershocks ranging from two-point-seven to three-point-four just struck a point approximately 940 kilometers southwest of your location. The seismic waves will weaken somewhat by the time they reach your position in a few moments. But we’ve been receiving reports from the platform operators that there’re signs of stress forming along the marine terrace. They believe it’ll eventually give. And if that happens, Whitaker, that ship will become your tomb.”

“How weak is the terrace?”

“There’s no way to determine that at this time. But if I was you I’d get that data, complete the agenda, and get the hell out of Dodge.”

“You need to get that sub down here ASAP,” he told him. “Have it waiting at the sub bay just in case my team and I need to be out of here pronto.”

“Already done. Once we break contact, then we go dark until you’re topside. No more communication.”

“Understood.”

“Good luck, then.”

The connection was severed, the light of the monitor growing to a point, then gone.

Whitaker fell back in his chair, grabbed a flash drive, and toyed with it between his fingers. Time was now of the essence. More so, and coming at him at the rate of seven kilometers per second from the southwest, seismic waves were about to shake his world.

And shake it did.

#

A tremor measuring
2.7 jarred the area, the bowl-shaped wall of the crater shaking, trembling, sending tons of loose rock and debris cascading downward, hitting the ship, the terrace. Other pieces simply rode the wall to the crater’s bottom, nearly six miles below.

Along the surface of the marine terrace a deep, running fissure moved beneath the Umbilical tube that stretched between the undersea platform and the ship, weakening the terrace, the landing beginning to pull away from the wall. The undersea platform tilted with the pull of the terrace, the Umbilical tube stretching between the platform and the ship pulling tight, the ends of the tube hanging on by the magnetic rings that bound them together.

Inside the platform where the slant of the staging area was approximately fifteen degrees, anything not tacked down slid off tables. Computers and monitors slid off their countertops and shattered upon impact against the slightly corrugated floor. And the walls protested against the sudden shift.

The engineers monitoring the atmosphere, pressure and temperature joined themselves to anything immovable and prayed to God.

#

Whitaker white-knuckled
the edges of his desk and hung on as the floor took on a lean that seemed like that slow ascent to the top of a roller coaster where the car sat precariously at its peak a moment before the drop. For a second he felt like that lead rider overlooking the edge and waiting for the fall.

But the fall never came.

The tremors stopped.

After a moment Whitaker took in a deep breath, and then released it with an equally long sigh.

His world had literally altered when the ship’s fore dipped at an angle that favored a drop to the bottom of the crater, a five-mile journey, should the next tremor prove too much.

Grabbing his helmet and weapon, Whitaker made haste.

#

When the tremor
struck John and Alyssa immediately took to the floor. O’Connell lost his balance and did the same, falling on his injured shoulder which sent a course of white-hot pain throughout his body. Maestro and Goliath stumbled, held their stances, however unsteady, with Goliath cradling the laptop as if it was the Holy Grail.

Seeing an opportunity, Savage lashed out with his leg and kicked Maestro’s legs out from under him, the large commando going feet first into the air with the flat of his back crashing hard against the surface, knocking the wind out of him. With the assault weapon skating several feet away, Savage and Maestro crawled hastily toward the MP5. Just as Savage was about to grab it, Maestro seized his ankle and pulled him from the weapon.

Though the tremors stopped, the two men fighting did not. Maestro gained the advantage by straddling Savage, raised his fist, and thrust it downward, the blow deflected by Savage with the fist hitting the deck, hard. Savage then brought his knee up and hit the center of Maestro’s back, the warrior to arcing in pain, which provided Savage with a moment of opportunity. In a flash he brought his knuckles up and hit Maestro in the neck, a perfect strike to the Adam’s apple, the large man grasping his throat as he fell back wheezing for breath.

Just as Savage laid his hand on the stock of the weapon, the biggest sole he had ever seen, a size fifteen shoe, hit him squarely in the face, which brought on a nebula of light a moment before he was overtaken by absolute darkness.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The ship’s ceiling.

The phosphorous green light.

The smell of his own blood.

John Savage rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His head felt as heavy as an anvil. The pain incredible.

“Mr. Savage.” The voice sounded distant and hollow, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel. “Are you with us, Mr. Savage?”

Savage shook the cobwebs free with lingering traces of gossamer strands not totally washed away from his sight. He then worked his way onto his backside and faced off with Whitaker, who was hunkering beside him.

“I thought a SEAL would be smarter than to take on two elites,” he told him. “Not a bright move on your part.” He then got to his full height, looking down. “Apparently you have a hard head, Savage. You’re lucky. Usually when Goliath hits someone square in the face with those big ol’ feet of his, he usually caves it in.” He then chortled. “I guess he was just being polite.” He turned to Goliath. “Goliath, were you being polite?”

Goliath smiled. “Yeah, boss. As polite as polite can be.”

Maestro didn’t smile at all. In fact, by the management of his features, such as the sharp dip of his eyebrows over the bridge of his nose and the way the muscles worked in the back of his jaw, Savage could tell that the soldier was beyond angry.

“Now Maestro here,” said Whitaker, holding a hand in the warrior’s direction, “now he’s a story all together different. This man wants your head.” The faux smile was suddenly gone. “But if you attack any of my men again, if you so much as give them a dirty look, then I will have them rip you apart by the seams. Is that clear?”

John didn’t answer.

“You’re lucky you’re not dead.” Whitaker pointed his weapon at him. “Now get to your feet,” he said. “We’ve work to do and time is not a luxury.”

Savage labored to his feet, his world still fuzzy. He looked at Alyssa, who was in the grasp of a towering Goliath who held a hand to her shoulder. Next to him she looked like a child, small and defenseless. And he could tell by the look on her face that she was frightened, not by her predicament but of his welfare.

The room provided an awkward luminosity, a phosphorous green, the light of the glow pulsating like a heartbeat, slow and rhythmic, somewhat comforting.

Goliath, with his hand on Alyssa’s shoulder, directed her to the Master Console. In defiance she shook off his grasp. When Goliath attempted to clamp down once again with his paw, Whitaker held his hand up as a gesture to allow her that moment.

Yeah, boss
.

She looked at the console. Again it was something that appeared glasslike, almost a holographic image rather than something of substance. The seat was small, like at the other console, with the chair designed to cater to someone much smaller.

“Take the chair, Ms. Moore.”

She looked at John, who nodded.
Go ahead. Take the chair
.

She took a position between the chair and the console, the console appearing as translucent as the chair. And then the chair began to ripple and wave, the image of the seat morphing to fit her contours, becoming larger and more ergonomic.

The console seemed to rise, the topside coming up to meet her standards, the edges of the console circling her like a ring, becoming a donut, the ends connecting until she was completely encircled within the holographic disk.

On the console was a monitor, a holographic unit, with something reminiscent of a keyboard, but with far greater sets of symbols and lettering. On the lower right hand corner was a pulsating tile bearing the figure
₰
.

With the tip of her finger she pressed it, the holographic tile rippling beneath her touch.

Suddenly a large holographic monitor appeared in front of her, the image hanging above the floor before the console. A screen-sized tablet summarily appeared as well, a keyboard. Whatever she typed would subsequently appear on the master screen.

“This is all energy,” she whispered. “There’s no way to tap into this.”

“All we need you to do, Ms. Moore, is to open the gateway. Whatever you’re able to bring up on that screen will be recorded. What we record will be determined by our experts at a later date.”

She noted two small cameras behind her and the attached globes with high-resolution eyes to capture images to a superior and optimum degree, the best of military hardware. They were attached to a boxlike unit unlike anything she had ever seen before, with wires trailing from the globes to the component.

And then she looked at John, who betrayed nothing. This was not like it was in Eden, she considered, even when things were at their worst, she could at least hope for the best with John there. Especially with his very particular set of skills. But in his only attempt he was bested, the former soldier KO’d.

She closed her eyes.
We’re all going to die
.

“You’ll need this.”

She opened her eyes in time to see Whitaker laying the laptop on the console next to the image of the holographic tablet. When he placed the computer on the console it didn’t even make a noise, the holographic tabletop absorbing the sound. 

“The cameras are working, Ms. Moore. Use what you have discovered on your laptop and open the gateway.”

She hated Whitaker’s voice, considering it dry and grating.

“Ms. Moore, time is of the essence.”

She opened the laptop and booted it.

And then she hit the screen of the holographic tablet, the small and large screens coming to life simultaneously with alien glyphs, images, cuneiform and archaic symbols upon them—most of the images resembling those on the holographic keyboard.