The Lucifer Code (28 page)

'But this is the weird thing, Bradley. I'm not even sure it is the truth. Not the whole truth anyway. There's something more to-'

'You think?' Soames interrupted. In the half-light his face wore a quizzical frown, as if trying to figure her out. 'No,' he said abruptly. 'There's nothing more. There's only one truth. And when the signs come you'll understand it too.'

She stepped closer. 'But what if Accosta was only speaking a half-truth, Bradley? Don't you even care if he was wrong? Hell, I want him to be wrong. It's only natural. Even you must want that, Bradley, surely?'

He turned to leave and as he did so the shaft of light from the corridor crossed his face, illuminating his eyes. Ever since she had met him she had known he was strange, but had always put it down to his powerful intellect and a strange upbringing due to his illness. But in that instant when she looked into his eyes she realized it was more than that. He wasn't just eccentric or lacking in empathy, he was emotionally absent. She didn't see evil in his eyes; she saw something far more frightening.

She saw a vacuum.

*

Black sector secure accommodation

Twenty-seven hours after the Red Pope's announcement, the media leaked the secret joint findings of the FBI technical agents aboard the Red Ark, an invited group of top scientists and a delegation from the Vatican's Institute of Miracles. Testimonials had been taken from all those of the audience who had physically witnessed the events, including the invited senior members of the major religions.

All parties were keen to expose the Red Pope's revelation as a hoax, but after analysing his corpse and poring over the complex technical equipment, they had been forced to acknowledge that the only input into the hologram had come from the NeuroTranslator, and the only source for the NeuroTranslator signals was the soul-capture sphere around the head of Accosta's corpse. This technical admission and the testimony of those who had been on board the Red Ark during the announcement had left the committee with no choice but to conclude that there was no 'earthly way to explain what had happened'. Another unofficial source was quoted as saying that if this was a technical trick then 'the hoax was no less miraculous than Accosta's soul actually speaking after death.

Associate Director Morgan Jones, the tall black FBI chief in charge of the investigation, gave two press conferences in which he appeared confident in the official diagnosis while strenuously and eloquently saying nothing. But his reticence and the Vatican's initial 'no comment' when asked to refute the Red Pope's revelations were seen as confirming the leaked findings and supporting Accosta's final words.

Locked in his suite, watching the events unfold on television, Fleming could only pace out his frustration. He was incapable of sitting still, and his mind was similarly agitated, battling to process all the information he had received so he could clarify what he now believed. He had been unable to sleep since the Red Pope's words, and he had become increasingly certain that they contained some truth. What Accosta had revealed dovetailed too closely with the one theory that made any sense of his atheistic sensibilities: religion as a malevolent force in the world.

A noise outside the door halted him. It opened to reveal Bradley Soames. The wolves stood panting quietly at his heel. He was smiling, jubilant. 'How you feeling, Miles?'

Fleming didn't answer.

'Tell me,' Soames asked, leading the wolves into the room and closing the door, 'how does it feel to have your gravest fears realized?' He sounded coolly interested. 'How does it feel to know your brother's probably suffering now and you didn't try to save him? How does a guy like you, who has spent his life trying to ease suffering in this world, and has depended on the sweet release of oblivion in the next, handle the fact that death brings only more arbitrary suffering for ever?'

Fleming said nothing, and did not look at him.

'How would your parents feel, knowing that their beloved elder son is dead and in pain because their younger son refused to save him? How would your nephew feel? It's Jake, isn't it? How would he handle this knowledge? I think it would destroy him. Don't you?'

Still Fleming was silent.

'Don't feel too bad, Miles,' Soames continued. 'In many ways you were right. There is no divine God. There is no ultimate judge who ensures everyone gets their just deserts in the hereafter. There's just a malevolent Lord of Chaos. The only difference from what you believed then and now know is that when you die, the chaos and suffering continue for eternity'

Fleming crumpled to his knees, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Soames stepped closer. 'I pity you. It must be difficult living with yourself, knowing the fate to which you've consigned your brother.'

Suddenly Fleming reached for Soames's right hand and gripped it hard in both of his. The wolves tensed but Soames signalled them to stay back. 'There's no point begging, Miles. I can't help you. Not now' A small laugh. 'Or perhaps you're praying? No, that would be stupid.' He pulled away his hand. 'Why pray when there's no one to hear you?' He led the silent wolves from the room.

Hands clasped together, Fleming remained on the floor until he heard the door close. Then he sat up slowly and opened his hands.

*

The white sector communication room

Grey-faced and expressionless, Virginia Knight felt numb, enveloped by the vacuum of her now absent faith. She replaced the satellite phone on its cradle. There was only one option left to her.

Leaving the room, she walked like a zombie through the deserted white sector, towards the exit where, through the glass doors, she could see the gathering snowstorm lit up by the external security lights. Using her disk, she opened the door to the survival room next to the reception hallway. Not knowing what to select, she rifled through the supplies and chose prepacked items, stowing them in a rucksack.

Then, with a deep sigh, she left the survival room and walked back into the heart of the Foundation, towards the black sector.

*

Black sector

Amber paced around her room, her frantic steps mirroring the turmoil in her mind as conflicting thoughts warred inside her head. What she had seen in Soames's eyes had increased her anxiety about Accosta's revelation. She had already seen the first sign he had predicted, which indicated that there was some truth in his words. Yet her dream had suggested there was a contradictory truth.

She sat on the bed with her head in her hands. She was still unsure of exactly what Ariel had tried to show her, but she knew that her sister had gone to a very different place from that described by the Red Pope.

To calm herself she cast her mind back to the last time she had seen her mother alive, sleeping in the hospice, afternoon sunlight filtering through the translucent curtains, the green of the terrace plants beyond. The serenity of that moment soothed her as surely as if her mother had laid a cool hand on her forehead.

'Perhaps Ariel was trying to tell me something,' she said aloud. 'Something I need to tell the world . . .'

Amber gazed around at her secure cell in remote, inaccessible mountains north of the Arctic Circle. Even if she knew what she wanted to tell the world, how could she contact anyone? This place didn't even seem part of the world.

Click.

Amber swivelled and stared at the door.

She had never been frightened of Soames before but now apprehension built within her as she braced herself for another confrontation. Standing ramrod straight, she faced the door.

It opened hesitantly.

The silhouette wasn't Bradley Soames's. It was too tall.

Amber,' the figure whispered urgently, stepping into the room. 'Let's get out of here.'

Amber's jaw dropped and her heart lifted. 'Miles, how the hell did you get in here? More to the point, how the hell did you get out?'

'Let's just say I borrowed a key off Bradley. I'll explain later. First we've got to get out of here.'

*

Black sector

The dark, deserted corridors were as quiet as treachery. 'You've got a plan?' asked Amber.

'One step at a time,' Fleming said. 'First we get out of the black sector. Then we head for the white sector communication room and use the sat phone to make a call.'

'Who to?'

'The FBI - anyone who'll listen.' He didn't care who they called as long as they got word out about their predicament and revealed Soames's role in recent events. His main worry was what to do after that. It would take time for help to arrive and until then they were at Soames's mercy. If he had been on his own he might have tried to climb down the mountain and head for the rangers' station he'd seen when flying in. But there was Amber to consider.

They were yards from the secure door leading from the black sector and he was about to approach it when he saw a security guard through the glass. He pushed Amber into the shadows and hissed, 'When he walks out of sight I'll try opening the door.'

Seconds later, the guard walked on. 'Let's go,' he whispered, leading Amber to the door.

'How you gonna open it?' Amber whispered.

'With this.' He opened his right hand. 'I took it from Bradley.'

Amber peered at the small black fragment on his palm, one side glistening darkly in the half-light. Then she grimaced. 'Gross.'

'It got us out so far so don't knock it.' He balanced the scab on the tip of his right index finger, and pressed it against the fingerplate next to the door lock.

He felt a hot sensation as the DNA scanner peeled off a microscopic section of tissue, then watched the red light, praying the guard wouldn't come back. The light stayed red, and he imagined an alarm alerting Soames.

'Come on, you bastard,' he muttered, jiggling the scab. He could feel the anxiety radiating from Amber as she huddled closer to him.

Suddenly the light changed to green, and they sighed with relief.

When the door opened they stole out of the black sector and turned left away from the direction the guard had gone. Entering the white sector Fleming had the strange sensation that they were being followed, and twice he turned round to check, but it soon became evident that the place was deserted. On his left he could see a heavily tinted glass window, showing a blue vision of the Arctic landscape outside. Heavy snow furled and billowed against the night sky.

Amber pointed to a door down the corridor on the left. 'There it is,' she said.

The communication room door stood open and three matt grey satellite phones sat in a regimented row on the central workstation. Feeling his anxiety abate, Fleming reached for the first and held it to his ear. 'Who do we call?' Amber asked beside him.

Fleming tried to recall the name he'd heard in the news reports. 'The FBI agent heading up the investigation.'

There was a sound behind them, but before Fleming could turn his head he heard a voice say: 'You're not going to call anyone. All the phones are down. Communication with the outside world has been cut.'

A cold lump in his stomach, Fleming wheeled round. Virginia Knight was standing in the doorway, her eyes bloodshot, her face deathly pale.

She reached into her pocket.

'This is for you, Miles,-' she said. 'I'm so sorry it had to come to this . . .'

Fleming moved so fast that Amber forgot to draw breath. One moment he was standing beside her, holding the satellite phone, and the next he was leaping through the air, knocking Virginia Knight to the floor.

Knight didn't try to struggle as Fleming reached into her pocket, retrieved the access disk and stood over her. 'Why are the sat phones down?' he demanded. His voice was taut with anger.

Knight stared dully at him. 'Bradley's cut off all contact with the outside world,' she said. 'Even I can't get a line out. Only he's got access.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. The guy's lost it. All I know is he intends to kill you. You gotta get out and get help.'

'How the hell are we going to do that?' blurted Amber. 'We'd have to climb down the mountain.'

'That's the only way,' said Fleming grimly.

Knight looked up at him. 'Let me help you. I've got area maps and plans of the site.'

Where?'

'In a rucksack in the survival room.'

Fleming studied her for moment, then pulled her up. 'Let's go.'

They passed through the remainder of the deserted white sector and within minutes were in the reception area. Ahead Fleming could see the blue-tinted glass exit doors with the V etched into them, and the thick swirling snow beyond. To his left was the survival room, stocked with climbing gear, rations and clothing for the harsh conditions outside. Using Knight's smart disk he opened the door and ushered the women inside.

One wall was lined with survival suits, all bright red, branded North Face. Unlike normal clothing, they didn't hang from hooks; instead they were self-supporting, like armour. Each suit had a wire extending from the ankle cuff of the left leg which was plugged into an electric wall-socket, and beneath stood rows of kinetic energy boots. A shelf contained insulated helmets, with integrated snow visors and lamps. Along the opposite wall a row of open shelving displayed rations and climbing paraphernalia: axes, ropes, snow saws, ice picks. Fleming was impressed, particularly with the survival suits: they were state-of-the-art smart clothing, similar to the gear he had used on a trip to Chamonix eighteen months earlier.