Alien Storm (15 page)

“I'm sure the story of your brush with a meteorite is equally amazing, Sarah,” he replied. “But I'll find out all the details soon enough.”

“Only if I let you,” she answered, aware that the rest of the table was regarding their exchange with interest.

Makarov laughed and clapped his hands together unexpectedly. “Well, enough of all this morbid talk. If you've all had your fill, let me show you my home!”

“Yeah!” Wei exclaimed. “I want to see the computers again!”

Beside him, Louise was almost bouncing out of her chair in excitement. As Makarov rose from his seat a shape appeared from the trees at the edge of the park. Sarah's eyes widened – for a moment she was convinced a wolf was walking across the grass towards them. Then she saw that its body was metallic. The “animal” was in fact a robot.

“What is it?” Louise asked in wonderment as the robot moved to Makarov's side and stood there. It was indeed doglike – designed around the body shape and size of a wolf, although instead of fur and skin, it was covered in dark, polished steel. Two ears atop its angular head were permanently pricked and looked as sharp as razor blades. Its eyes were slits that pulsed rhythmically through various shades of red. Along the side of its body a distinctive slash of white stood out against the dark metal.

“Meet Balthus,” Makarov replied, indicating the machine. “I suppose you could call him my pet. He's in fact one of a line of robots I created to replace huskies in the harsh Chukotkan environment. They're much better suited to the cold and never get fatigued. I call them robowolves.”

“Can I pat him?” Louise asked, moving forward.

A low electronic noise that sounded very much like a snarl came from Balthus. Louise froze.

“Balthus, behave!” Makarov chided the robowolf, walking over to reassure the girl. “I'm sorry, Louise. He's designed as a work dog, so his manners aren't always the best.” He leaned towards her conspiratorially. “I'll reprogram him to fetch a stick. Now, let's have our tour.”

With that he started across the grass towards the lift, Balthus padding along at his side. The others got up from the table and followed. Alex hung back to walk beside Sarah.

“There, I told you he was one of the good guys,” he said to her quietly.

“Right,” she replied. “Too bad his meteorite story doesn't add up.”

Alex looked at her questioningly.

“Haven't you ever heard of the Tunguska event?” she went on, unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “It was a meteorite that hit Siberia, Russia, last century. I read all about it on the web when we were in Melbourne.”

“So?”

“So, it struck in 1908,” she replied, popping a last piece of toast in her mouth. “Which would make Nikolai Makarov…”

“Over a hundred years old,” Alex finished for her.

They both looked over at Makarov as he stepped into the lift and beckoned for the others to follow him in.

“But I'm sure there's a very good reason why he would lie to us,” Sarah said as she walked ahead. “Right?”

“Right,” Alex replied, a feeling of unease beginning to stir in his belly.

19

Sarah had to admit, the Spire was impressive.

Their bedrooms were located between the 129th and 131st floors, which seemed designed solely for guest accommodation. Above this, on the 132nd floor, was a fitness level, featuring a gym and a swimming pool as big as Sarah had ever seen. Floor 148 was packed with enough computer, audio-visual and games equipment to keep Wei and Louise entertained for the next twenty years. A museum stocked with relics from antiquity as well as items from twentieth century history stretched across the 80th floor. Then there was the library (146th floor), the indoor tennis and squash courts (145th) and the ballroom (143rd).

Makarov led them through successive levels, delighting in showing off his toys. At every
ooh
and
aah
from the group, he would give a satisfied laugh and assure them that they hadn't seen anything yet.

“The Spire has the best of everything,” he said. “The best the twenty-first century has to offer in terms of technology, knowledge and leisure. I like to think of it as a repository for everything humankind has achieved up to this point.”

“A repository?” Nestor asked, with a glance at Sarah, as they approached the lift to another level. “You make it sound as if you're preserving things here.”

“Yeah,” Sarah pressed, “are you expecting something to happen?”

Makarov waved his hand through the air. “I learned from my childhood experience that civilization is fragile. Who knows when something is just going to fall from the sky and wipe out everything we've achieved? I want to make sure that can never happen. Each of my towers is designed to withstand any extreme event that is thrown at it. Whether that be an earthquake, a nuclear explosion or even a meteorite strike.”

He looked round at them on the threshold of the lift and smiled. “Nothing will bring this tower down. I'd bet my life on it.” He let this sink in for a moment, before nodding towards the waiting lift. “Come on, let me show you the jungle.”

The park inside the pyramid on the 153rd floor had been something to see, but there was an even more impressive one across the 140th and 141st floors – a simulated rainforest environment filled with exotic plants and birds.

“How does anything grow in here?” Robert marvelled as they walked along a grassy avenue under the trees. The atmosphere was humid, tropical. “There's no windows on this level.”

“Tungsten bulbs in the ceiling work as sunlight simulators,” Makarov replied, strolling up ahead. Beside him the robowolf, Balthus, moved along almost silently despite its size. “The temperature is regulated by the Spire's central computer. There's even a rainstorm every day at 4 p.m. It's the closest you'll get to a rainforest without going to the Amazon.”

Sarah watched a green and yellow parrot fly through the trees above their heads. “It's amazing. I'm just trying to work out why you need it.”

Makarov looked at her as if the question was a stupid one. “Why? Why not? The Spire is designed to be a completely self-contained environment. A person could spend his life within its walls and never feel the need to step outside.”

“Wow,” Sarah replied. “That's kind of a weird idea.”

Octavio piped up, “Sarah doesn't feel comfortable living in all this luxury, Nikolai. Slums are more her speed.”

“Octavio,” Nestor warned.

“My hope is that one day all people will live like this,” Makarov continued. “I grew up in poverty. It is my belief that everyone should live like kings. And one day, with the help of my technology, we all will.”

One of the uniformed women appeared through the trees and whispered something in Makarov's ear. With a sigh, he turned to the group.

“Business calls. This is going to keep me occupied for the rest of the day, I'm afraid. Please explore the rest of the upper levels of the Spire to your hearts' content. Catch a movie. Go for a swim. Relax. After everything you've been through, you've earned it.”

He started towards the exit, but turned after a few steps.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I only have one rule – please don't venture below the 90th floor of the Spire.”

“Why?” Sarah asked. “What's down there?”

“Just the administrative areas of my empire. Offices mainly. Some research labs. Boring to young persons such as you. I think you'll find the upper levels of the tower much more fun. Is that acceptable?”

Makarov held Sarah's gaze as he asked this.

“Sure,” she replied. “We'll try to keep out of trouble.”

The Russian gave them a little bow. “Until later.”

As he departed, Alex looked at Sarah. “Why do I get the feeling you don't mean that?”

Rachel Andersen groaned as the intercom on the other side of her cabin blared. Pushing herself off the bed she had collapsed into less than an hour before, she staggered across the gently swaying floor and pressed the
speak
button.

“Andersen.”

“We've got Nikolai Makarov on the line, sir,” Lieutenant Kaminski answered through the speaker. “Online link-up in the communications room.”

“I'll be there in five,” Rachel replied, cutting the comm.

She dressed quickly and exited her cabin, taking the stairs up three levels. Halfway to her destination, however, she felt her stomach turn over and a wave of nausea rise. She dashed to the nearest exterior door and threw it open. Steeling herself against the blast of cold air, she rushed out onto the deck of the aircraft carrier. Finding the railing at the edge of the deck, she leaned over and looked down at the dark, swirling water of the Pacific Ocean, over thirty metres below. Thankfully, the feeling of seasickness that had plagued her since her arrival on the HS
Ulysses
began to subside.

“Are you okay, sir?” a concerned voice asked. She turned to see a kid in an orange jumpsuit – a member of the flight deck crew. He looked barely old enough to drive a car, let alone service fighter jets.

“Fine. Just getting a little fresh air. Carry on.”

The kid saluted and walked off towards the double row of hovercopters sitting on the edge of the deck. Taking another deep breath, Rachel looked back across the wide expanse of the deck, which formed a massive, seaborne landing strip. Currently the
Ulysses
, HIDRA's mobile base in the Pacific, was heading through quiet waters, but Rachel still hadn't found her sea legs. With one final breath of briny air, she headed back into the ship and carried on down the corridor to a door marked
Communications Room
.

Kaminski stood as she entered the room – which was wall-to-wall computers and comm gear. He indicated a computer showing a blonde woman in a link-up window – Nikolai Makarov's personal secretary.

“Mr. Makarov is ready to speak to you now, Colonel,” said the blonde woman as Rachel took her seat. She had a strange, flat way of speaking that Rachel found a little disconcerting. But she soon forgot about that when Makarov appeared on her computer screen. Even through the slightly pixelated link-up image his eyes were magnetic.

“So good to finally speak to you, Dr. Andersen,” he said with an accent like syrup. “Or is it Colonel?”

“Colonel officially,” she replied, “but I prefer Dr. Good to speak to you too, Mr. Makarov. It's a shame you never answered my calls when the meteorite struck in your region six months ago.”

Makarov held up his hands apologetically. “Forgive me. As you can imagine, I was busy at the time, coordinating the clean-up efforts. Although the meteorite was small, it caused considerable damage to one of our copper mining operations. Thankfully there were no casualties.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “And no trace of the fall virus either?”

“Luckily, no,” Makarov replied.

“Well, our tracking station suggested that the meteor entered our solar system on the same trajectory as the virus-infected Australian and South American meteorites. That's why HIDRA was so eager to get access to the site—”

“I am quite happy to allow you access to the area,” Makarov interrupted, much to Rachel's surprise. For six months HIDRA's requests to visit the strike site had been rebuffed – first by Makarov's spokespeople in Washington and then by the Russian government. He had friends in powerful places.

“When would your people like to arrive?” Makarov went on, his dark eyes showing some animation for the first time. “I could have the area ready for your inspection in say…three days?”

Rachel gave no reply. She had the distinct feeling that the man was mocking her. More than that, after months of evasion, his sudden decision to let them in was perplexing.
Three days
. The estimated time until the next meteorite strike.
Is it possible he knows?
she wondered.

“Well?” Makarov pressed. “Don't tell me you have something more important to do.”

Somehow he knows about the new meteor, Rachel thought. It was just an instinct, but she was absolutely certain she was correct. In the video window, a smile flickered across Makarov's lips and she had the same feeling she did around Sarah Williams – that her thoughts were an open book to this person.

“I'll prepare a research team,” she lied to him – at such a critical time she had no intention of wasting resources on a strike site that was over half a year old.

Makarov bowed his head. “Very good. I'll be pleased to host your people during their stay in Chukotka. Please talk to my PA about the arrangements. Now, if you'll excuse me—”

“There's just one more thing,” Rachel said, clicking her mouse to send the image of the jet from the Melbourne airport to Makarov's computer. “Have you seen this plane before?”

A micro-expression of annoyance flashed across Makarov's face, before he shrugged his shoulders casually. “I can't say I have. However, the picture quality is rather poor. Why is it of interest to you?”

“It's a private jet fitted with stealth technology,” she continued. “It was involved in the suspected kidnapping of several virus-altered children in Melbourne yesterday.”

“Kidnapping?” he exclaimed. “How awful.”

“The logo on the side looks like yours,” Rachel said. “That's the Makarov Industries
M
, isn't it?”

“Hard to see, really. You're not suggesting that jet belongs to me, are you? I admit that I have the know-how and means to build such a plane, but why would I put my company logo on the side? Not very…stealthy…is it?” He chuckled at his own joke.

Maybe because you're a complete show-off
, Rachel thought to herself, but said, “We just wondered if you might have developed such a jet for a third party.”

Makarov shook his head sadly. “Afraid not. Were these children under your care?”