Terminal (21 page)

‘So this is goodbye,' Chester said to Parry.

‘You might want to see to your friend,' Martha suggested, as Old Wilkie groaned and began to stir. Stephanie immediately went to him, but Parry remained where he was, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Chester, at least take this with you, in
case you need to get in contact.' He tugged a satphone from his pocket and held it out.

Chester didn't say a word, but Parry lobbed it over to him, and he caught it.

‘It's fully charged,' Parry said. ‘Turn it and listen to the messages every so often, will you? Promise me you'll do that?'

Tucking the phone in his pocket, Chester still didn't respond as, their arms linked, he and Martha turned in the direction of the sea and began to walk away, the seven Brights rotating around them like a carousel.

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

A
s the small launch careered up the subterranean channel, scudding over the surface of the river, Jiggs' main concern was that the hull would last the journey. It had taken some major repairs to patch up the damage the Limiters had inflicted on it and anything else that still floated before dumping the wrecked vessels in the bottom of the harbour. And Jiggs hardly had the ideal materials at his disposal to repair the launch – some time-expired resin and old fibreglass matting – but he'd got there in the end.

And he was also very concerned for Drake, who was huddled in the bottom of the boat. Although, with much grumbling, Drake had eventually consented to wrapping himself in a poncho from the quartermaster's stores, the spray was bitterly cold, and Jiggs himself had lost much of the sensation in his hands and face.

Jiggs was still worrying about his friend and wishing that there were some way to stop and check on him when he felt the launch slow. It was decelerating as though it had met with resistance in the river.

It had. Through his Russian monoscope, Jiggs caught a
glimpse of a steel cable strung right across the width of the river channel. It was cleverly positioned, just high enough to avoid any flotsam, but at perfect height to snag a passing craft.

As the cable reached breaking point and snapped, the loud twang could have been a sound effect from a cartoon. It might have been funny if the consequences weren't so dire.

Jiggs yelled ‘INCOMING!' at the very top of his voice as the loose ends of the cable whipped away on either side of the channel. Drake didn't seem to hear the warning under his poncho.

With instincts honed through countless deployments in areas where anti-personnel devices were an everyday hazard, Jiggs reacted in a fraction of a second. Ramming the throttle on full, he yanked the outboard over, steering the launch into the middle of the channel, as far away from the sides as he could get.

He was praying that the Styx sappers had been intending to catch anyone travelling in the opposite direction –
down
to the deep-level shelter – and not
up
from it. It made a world of difference to where the explosives would be planted. It made all the difference as to whether he and Drake were going to escape with their lives.

As the explosives detonated, Jiggs was crouching and trying to protect his head. The surge of water threw the launch up the river, and the tunnel behind was thick with smoke and a cascade of flying stone.

Jiggs knew at that moment the tripwire had been set for boats going in the opposite direction. ‘Thank you, God,' he shouted. He was still offering up his gratitude as reports of the blast echoed back and forth in the tunnel. Then, as he followed a bend in the channel, there was just the sound of the
outboard and the gushing river again.

Drake stirred, his head peering tortoise-like from under the poncho. ‘You want something?' he asked. ‘You nudged me.'

‘No, not me, and everything's fine. Just get some rest,' Jiggs replied, trying not to laugh.

After another ten hours, they broke the journey to stop at one of the way stations along the route. Here Jiggs stocked up with fuel from the rusty storage tanks on the quay, while Drake took respite from the constant freezing spray of the speeding river.

They resumed the journey and, many hours later, finally pulled into the long harbour that lay below the disused airfield. Jiggs tied up the launch and helped Drake onto the quayside. After a change of clothes and a hot drink he went off to investigate.

‘I've cleared the booby traps,' Jiggs told Drake when he eventually returned. ‘There were three trips on the way to the exit.'

Drake nodded. ‘I'm amazed they left the river unprotected. If it had been me, I would have planted one there for sure.'

Jiggs just nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘Yes, me too,' he agreed. ‘Odd, that.' Then he helped Drake to his feet, and they set off.

The interior of the tower reminded Will of a modern cathedral he'd once visited with his father. It might have been the way that their footfalls were reverberating through the large space, or perhaps because the interior with its plain walls and ceiling, all of the same grey material as the exposed pyramid, gave the impression of both solemnity and majesty.

Of power.

Will was beginning to think that there was something in what Elliott had been saying. Maybe he was sensing it too now.

And adding to this impression were the two large columns directly opposite the entrance. As he moved towards them across the dusty floor, it felt to Will as if he was approaching an altar. His eyes swept over the peculiar spiky letters that were inscribed across both of them over twenty feet up.

‘Does that writing make sense to anyone?' he enquired.

‘No, I don't recognise it,' Jürgen replied. ‘Those letters don't share any characteristics with the scripts or the glyphs I've been studying.'

‘And you?' Will asked Elliott coldly. He still hadn't quite forgiven her for the way she'd ignored his advice before they entered the tower.

As she shook her head, Will indicated the twin cylinders. ‘There's no sign of any doors, but you don't suppose those things are lifts, do you?' He chuckled because this building, which had just been thrust out of the ground, had to be many millennia old, and it felt like such an odd question to ask.

‘That would make sense, given the height of the structure,' Jürgen suggested, but he was already making his way over to the bushman, who was standing by what appeared to be a circular flight of stairs that began to the far left of the columns and continued up behind them.

‘Why don't you ask Woody what this place is? … Ask him what we're getting ourselves into here,' Will prompted Elliott.

Elliott immediately began to speak to the bushman in Styx. After a couple of exchanges, she turned to Will. ‘He says he doesn't know, and I believe him. He keeps using that same
word –
destiny
,' she said.

‘Well, there's one way to find out,' Will said. ‘Let's go!'

With Woody leading, they all began to race up the circular stairs.

‘These are exactly like the ones inside the pyramid,' Elliott noted.

‘Yes, the dimensions are quite odd. Almost as if they weren't meant for people,' Jürgen pointed out; they were all finding the steps very awkward to climb. In order to negotiate them at any speed, the trick was to attempt two at a time, although that meant taking inordinately long strides. After a while the action became automatic, and they would only stumble when they lost the rhythm.

As Woody continued to lead everyone upwards, the steps seemed to go on for ever around the central columns. Finally they came to a landing with another circular opening. They were all out of breath but bursting with curiosity as they entered it.

‘I assume we're in the wider structure at the top now,' Jürgen panted.

‘Yeah, but there's nothing in here. So what's all this for?' Will asked.

Nobody could give him an answer. They completed a full circuit of the space, ending up where they'd begun. It was completely empty – just the curved external wall with four console-type blocks of the grey material rising out of the floor at regular intervals around the central well.

Jürgen knocked exploratively against the outer wall. ‘Feels cold,' he said.

Elliott had moved towards one of the blocks on the floor and seemed to be about to touch it, but then stopped herself.
She looked rather flushed, although Will wasn't sure if this was simply because she was recovering from the rapid climb up the stairs, or if something else was bothering her.

‘Everything okay?' he asked.

‘Sure. Yes,' she mumbled, already moving towards Woody at the entrance.

With a shrug, Will began to do the same when he stopped abruptly. ‘Hold on,' he said.

‘What is it?' Jürgen asked.

Will had been examining his hands, then began to peer at the ceiling above them. ‘There aren't any windows or lights in here,' he said. ‘So how come we're not in complete darkness?'

Jürgen also held up a hand and was moving it around to examine it from different angles. ‘You're absolutely right,' he said. He seemed to be even more flummoxed as he lowered his hand towards the floor. He suddenly got down on his knees to rub the dust from an area of the floor.

‘What are you doing?' Will asked him.

Jürgen stood up again. ‘The light seems to be omnidirectional – there are no discernible shadows.' He raised his outstretched hand with the palm parallel to the floor. ‘Notice that the underside of my hand is illuminated even though the floor is coated with dust, and there are no obvious sources of illumination down there anyway. Or anywhere, for that matter. You're right, Will, this is extraordinary.'

Jürgen wasn't finished. ‘And unless this is some kind of engineering feat and light from outside is being channelled in, there must be an energy source to do this.'

‘Yeah, I think we know that. It also opened the door for us downstairs, and blew the old pyramid apart, and raised this whole tower from the ground,' Will reeled off.

Jürgen nodded a little sheepishly as Will noticed how impatient Woody was. ‘Let's try the next floor and see what we find there,' he suggested, still watching the bushman carefully. Will really didn't trust him any more.

‘Well, there's nowhere else to go now. We must be at the very top of the tower,' Jürgen observed as they came to the last of the stairs and emerged into one large circular area, this time without any obstruction in the middle from the twin columns.

Instead, right in the centre there was a circular podium some twenty feet across, on which stood a tall central block-like console surrounded by smaller blocks.

Again, the walls, floor and ceiling were of the same material as the rest of the tower, and the same uniform light lit the whole space.

‘Whoever built all this, they liked to keep things simple,' Will commented.

Jürgen was walking around the wall as Will stepped onto the central podium to inspect the different blocks, running his hands over them. ‘And all this feels like stone, same as on the floor below, same as everywhere.'

Elliott and Woody had gone straight to the tallest console in the centre of the podium. They were both staring at it, at the very top. They both looked troubled.

Will exhaled sharply. ‘I know something's wrong. If you don't tell me what it is, I swear I'll never talk to you again,' he threatened Elliott.

‘Something's missing from here,' she said.

‘What do you mean?' Will asked, becoming even more disconcerted by the way his friend was acting. ‘What's missing? And how could you know that?'

‘I don't know how I know,' Elliott gasped. ‘It's like in a dream when something terrible happens – the worst thing you can possibly think of – and you wake up with that awful feeling of dread, but you can't remember why exactly.' As her gaze met Will's, he noticed that a tear was tracing its way down the dirty skin of her face. ‘I wish I could tell you exactly, but something doesn't feel right. Something that should be here isn't.'