The Shroud of Heaven (30 page)

4…3….

He quickly punched the asterisk, followed by 1, 4, 0, 7 and then the pound sign. The beeping tone abruptly changed to a long single note then fell silent. The numeric countdown likewise ceased.

Kismet sagged against the console, his extremities feeling numb from the surge of adrenaline. When he could breathe again, he looked over at an ashen Chiron, and enunciating slowly and clearly as he might with a wayward child, said: “Don’t touch anything.”

***

It was nearly fifteen minutes before they heard a distant screeching sound of metal on metal issuing from the tunnel. There was a faint breeze as air was pushed ahead of the arriving mass, and a few moments later, a single flatbed rail car rolled out of the darkness and coasted to a halt against the bumpers. Perhaps owing to their most recent brush with disaster, no one approached the car until Kismet made the first move.

The flatbed was little more than a freight platform. The motors were situated near the wheels and the only part of the vehicle that rose above the flat surface was a metal tower that reached up to make contact with the power lines. There were no creature comforts, nor did there appear to be any means of regulating speed or direction.

“It’s all controlled from the main console,” Kismet deduced aloud. “There’s probably a computer in there to automatically slow it down when it gets to the end of the line.”

“Dare we get aboard and see where it leads?” asked Chiron.

“Since you’ve probably already determined to do that, I guess there’s no reason not to. Go ahead and climb on. I’ll get it started and run over to join you. Hopefully, there’s another control panel at the other end.”

“What if there’s not?” inquired Marie. “Should someone remain behind?”

Before he could weigh in, Chiron once again exercised his veto. “I don’t think that’s wise. Look what happened when we separated before. We should remain together. I trust that Nick is right. Logically, there must be a second set of controls.”

Kismet did not find his mentor’s vote of confidence especially gratifying, but the older man’s certitude seemed vaguely inappropriate. He felt a shiver of déjà vu and wondered once more what Chiron was really up to. “Well, if I’m not, it will be a long walk back. All aboard, everyone. Last call for the Helltown Express.”

Once Hussein, as the last member of the group save Kismet himself, had ascended the platform and secured one of the heavy nylon freight slings anchored around the perimeter, Kismet pressed the green button to activate the rail car motor. After a momentary delay, in which Kismet was unsure if he had selected the wrong control, the vehicle began to roll away from the bumper. Though it moved slowly, Kismet had to sprint to catch the car before it was once more swallowed up by the tunnel. He could feel its velocity increasing as the darkness swelled all around.

They activated several chem-lights to illuminate the journey but there was very little to see. Except for the overhead lines suspended at regular intervals, there was nothing but roughly worked black stone. The tunnel was a long, straight passage driving through the earth’s crust. The narrow dimensions of the tube reflected the noise of the motors and wheels in an endless cacophony that was comparable to a torture session with fingernails on a chalkboard, but amplified to monstrous proportions. Conversation was impossible, and Kismet was left alone with his thoughts which, given the circumstances, were not the best of company.

The featureless tunnel ended abruptly, much as it had begun, and the rail car rolled out into an open chamber similar to the depot at the opposite terminus. Before anyone could react to the sudden arrival, the car screeched to a halt.

Kismet jumped down first, eager to scout the area for further traps. A control panel was situated near the bumper assembly but the security keypad was conspicuously absent, as was the wire strand that might indicate that it was linked to an explosive device. As his companions moved closer, he expanded the scope of his survey.

The chamber in which they now found themselves was much smaller than the first and hewn into a rough rectangle. Although there were several pallets and containers near the tracks, most of the area was vacant. The walls parallel to the train’s approach were broken with stainless steel doorways—two on either side—bolted into the coarse stone and sealed with a thick seam of epoxy. At the end of the chamber opposite the tunnel entrance, a second cylindrical passage, large enough to permit only pedestrian traffic, led into the dark beyond. Kismet withheld comment, but gestured to the nearest framed opening.

At Chiron’s nod of assent, he began walking toward the doorway, but when he had crossed only half the distance, a torturous noise—metal shrieking against metal—caused him to start. He whirled toward the source of the familiar sound and was chagrined to discover that Chiron had held back. Only Marie and Hussein had followed along behind him while the Frenchman had gravitated toward the control panel. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the rail car as it vanished into the tunnel.

“Damn it, Pierre. I told you not to touch anything.”

Chiron evinced guilt with a grimace. “I was looking for the overhead lights.”

Kismet shook his head in frustration as he reached the other man’s side. He toggled the switch that Chiron had used to activate the rail system, but nothing happened. The noise of the car on the tracks continued to diminish as it progressed away from the chamber. “Must be an automatic sequence. We’ll have to wait until it gets to the other end before we can call it back. At least I hope it works that way. Otherwise, we’ll have quite a walk.”

“Time enough to do some exploring,” replied Chiron with a wan smile.

“I suppose so,” Kismet conceded. “But I don’t think we’re going to find what you’re after in here. This looks like it might have been some kind of research facility.”

“Have a little faith, Nick.” Chiron gave his shoulder a paternal squeeze then moved toward the others.

“Faith?” Kismet’s repetition was barely audible and if Chiron heard, he gave no indication. Instead, the Frenchman took the lead, moving purposefully toward the opening, and Kismet had to sprint to head him off. “Pierre, remember. Don’t touch anything. If this was, as I suspect, some kind of weapon’s lab, not only will it probably be wired to a fail-safe, but there might also be some nasty things laying about.”

Chiron raised his hands by way of reply, but the meaning of the gesture was uncertain. Kismet shook his head again, then moved through the open portal. The lintel of the steel doorway concealed an overhead panel designed to drop like the blade of a guillotine and seal the chamber beyond. The thickness of the steel panel, a good thirty centimeters, was more than a little unnerving.Whether it was meant to keep something out or prevent something from escaping, Kismet knew he did not want to be caught on the wrong side of that door if it closed.

There proved to be little reason to continue beyond the threshold. The chamber was impassible, almost completely filled with a haphazard arrangement of metal vats. Some of the enormous containers were secured to floor along the perimeter, but most had simply been shoved in hastily. Kismet instantly recognized the tanks and divined their diabolical purpose.

“Well, either we’ve stumbled upon Saddam’s answer to Anhauseur-Busch…” He trailed off in response to the blank looks he was receiving from his comrades. “They’re fermenters,” he explained. “A sealed environment where bacterial cultures can thrive and propagate. You use them in the final stage of brewing beer.”

Chiron nodded in dawning comprehension. “Ah, of course. Dual-use technology.”

“Exactly. You can also grown and harvest any number of bacteriological strains. Anthrax comes to mind.”

“Then this is a bio-weapons laboratory,” Marie gasped. “This is what UNMOVIC was looking for: proof of an ongoing program for weapons of mass destruction.”

Kismet glanced around again. “I’m not sure ‘laboratory’ is the right word. It doesn’t look like any of the equipment has ever been used. More likely this is the hole they shoved everything into so that the inspectors wouldn’t find anything.”

“Still, this would qualify as…what is your expression? A smoking gun,
n’est pas
?”

“That’s not for us to say,” reproved Chiron, but his tone and expression were distracted, as though the discovery was inconveniently timed. “But rest assured, we will report this to the correct agency. Come, let us continue looking. If they were using this place to hide secrets, then we may yet find the object of
our
search.”

The Frenchman again led the charge, forcing Kismet to hasten to catch up. The second opening, like the first, was equipped with an emergency gate. Beyond the doorway however, the scene was markedly different. The enclosure seemed to be a general storage area, and was cluttered with wooden crates and hard plastic shipping containers. The cartons rose before them like a wall, almost completely blocking access to the room beyond. Many of the boxes were stamped with stenciled Cyrillic characters, but a few were easier to decipher, with descriptions written in French, German and English. Without exception, the painted letters indicated the contents of the containers to be military munitions. A random inspection revealed only packing dunnage. “Just empty boxes,” Kismet observed. “Either this stuff was passed on to army units before the war, or it’s being stockpiled somewhere else by insurgents.”

“But why keep these?” inquired Hussein, gesturing with his bandaged hand at the pile of containers.

“I’d say this was their answer to throwing it away.”

“If I may,” Chiron interjected. “There may be another explanation. Camouflage.”

“You think there’s something behind all this refuse?” Kismet sighed and resignedly began shifting the cartons out of the way. It was painfully clear that the French scientist would not be satisfied until he had explored every possibility. Nevertheless, the stacked containers did look a little like a facade, set up to give the illusion that the space beyond was entirely filled up, and he wasn’t surprised at all when, after clearing three vertical layers out of the way, he revealed another laboratory workspace. He continued digging at the barrier until the opening was large enough for them to pass through single file.

The space that Kismet now thought of as “Laboratory Two” appeared to have nothing at all to do with the development of biological weapons. Rather, it looked more like a machine shop, with drill presses and metalworking lathes, and a large supply of metal ingots. He picked up one experimentally and found it to be lighter than expected. “Aluminum?” he speculated aloud. No one answered.

A large worktable occupied the center of the area, and spread out across its surface were the pieces to some kind of device. Kismet studied the fragments, trying to imagine what they would look like if assembled. A spherical casing in the middle of the puzzle gave it away.

He sucked in his breath suddenly and glanced at his companions. Both Marie and Hussein seemed only mildly curious about the items on the tabletop. He sensed no recognition from either of them. Chiron had given the device only a cursory glance before continuing his explorations, but Kismet wasn’t fooled. Chiron knew what it was. He had to know.

There were three hard plastic containers, each about half the size of a coffin, stacked at the end of the table. One was open, but the cavity inside was filled with packing foam, cut out to cradle a torpedo-shaped object. The exterior was marked with the seal of the French Ministry of Defense and what seemed to be an identification code: CER 880412. The other two cases were similarly labeled, though with a different six-digit code. Extruded plastic seals, resembling tiny yellow padlocks, were threaded through the clasps. These containers had never been opened.

Kismet nonchalantly moved closer to Chiron, who was presently examining the contents of a workbench. He kept his voice low. “There’s something over here you need to see.”

“The detonators?” Chiron seemed to understand the need for discretion. “I saw. Do not worry, my friend. They are not armed.”

“How can you tell?”

“Many years ago, my government foolishly agreed to exchange certain technologies for oil leases. It was their belief that the Iraqis would never be able to successfully reverse engineer the devices or refine the nuclear fuel to make them operational.” He gave a half-hearted smile. “In this at least, it would seem they were correct. Saddam Hussein’s nuclear program never got off the ground.”

Kismet realized that the object Chiron was inspecting was a partially assembled version of the same item that lay exploded on the table. But unlike the latter, this device seemed rougher at the edges. This fourth atomic detonator had been manufactured here in Laboratory Two, rather than in the
Centre d’Etudes du Ripault
.

Because he was a nuclear scientist, Chiron’s grasp of the intricacies both of atomic weapons and the politics of exchanging such technologies far outstripped Kismet’s, and the latter had no reason to question his old mentor’s appraisal. Nevertheless, the idea that he was looking at a nuclear bomb, or rather the detonator—the component that used a shaped charge of plastic explosives to bombard a core of plutonium with neutrons, thereby triggering a catastrophic fission reaction—was just a little unnerving.

Chiron turned away from the workbench. “This isn’t the relic we seek. Let’s continue looking, shall we?”

Their counter-clockwise circuit of the laboratory complex moved, not to the third such stainless steel room, but to a tunnel situated at the end of the rectangular cavern opposite where they had entered. After the artificial symmetry of the first two rooms, the passage through which they now moved seemed wholly organic, as if carved out by the forces of nature. It was in fact more likely that the original dimensions of a naturally occurring fissure had been improved with excavating tools and explosives. Yet the workers had not seen fit to work the walls smooth or bore the tunnel in a straight line. It wended back and forth, ascending steeply for more than one hundred meters, before emerging into a larger open chamber.