Explosions and Gunfire Rock Indonesian Capital of Jakarta; Police Chief Arrested

Jakarta, Indonesia (AP) // The Associated Press has received multiple reports of explosions and gunfire across Jakarta. Although no terrorist groups have claimed responsibility, insiders within the Indonesian Government, speaking on the condition of anonymity, said they believe the attacks were a coordinated strike. It’s not clear at this time who the target or targets were.

At about 1 pm local time, three separate bomb blasts ripped through high-rise buildings in rundown residential neighborhoods across the city. Observers said at least two of the buildings were thought to be abandoned.

Those blasts were followed minutes later by explosions and automatic gunfire on the streets of the market district. Casualty figures are unavailable and police have declined to comment.

In what is believed to be a separate incident, the Chief of the West Jakarta Police Station was arrested on child pornography charges. The new chief of the station, Paku Kurnia, issued this statement: “This is a sad and shameful day for The Jakarta Metro Police and The West Jakarta Police Station, but our willingness to confront this evil within our own ranks will ultimately make us stronger and affirm the public trust in us.” The AP will update both stories as details emerge.

Kate sat in a chair, her hands bound behind her, the dark hood still over her head. The trip had been rough. The soldiers had tossed her about like a rag doll for the past thirty minutes, transferring her from one van to another, marching her down a series of hallways, and finally throwing her into the chair and slamming a door. The sensation of moving in pure darkness had made her nauseous. Her hands ached from the zip ties, and she couldn’t see a thing through the thick black hood. The absolute dark and quiet was disorienting, like sensory deprivation. How long had she been there?

Then she heard something coming closer: footfalls in a hallway or large room. They echoed louder with each passing second.

Martin Gray’s voice. Martin — the sound of her adoptive father’s voice sent waves of relief through Kate’s body. The darkness didn’t seem so dark, and the pain in her hands near the bindings seemed to ease. She was safe. Martin would help her find her children.

She felt the bag lift off her head. The lights blinded her, and she squinted, grimaced, and turned her head away.

She still couldn’t see them, but she knew the voice — the man who had taken her from the truck, who had taken the children at the clinic. Ben Adelson’s killer.

“You must have been pretty scared of her.” Martin’s voice was cold and forceful. Kate had never heard him talk to anyone that way. She heard two more men chuckling, then her captor responded, “Complain all you want, Grey. I don’t answer to you. And you seemed satisfied with our work earlier.”

Martin’s voice changed slightly; it was more amused. “You know, it almost sounds like you’re resisting, Mr. Tarea. Here, I’ll show you what happens when you do.”

Kate could see Martin now. His face was hard. He stared at the man, then turned to two other men — soldiers who must have accompanied Martin. “Take him to a holding cell. Shroud him and bind his hands, the tighter the better.”

The two men seized the kidnapper and put the bag that had been on Kate’s head on him and dragged him out of the room. Martin bent down to Kate and said, “Are you ok?”

Kate rubbed her hands and leaned forward. “Martin, two children were taken from my lab. That man was one of the kidnappers. We have to find

Martin held up a hand. “I know. I’ll explain everything. But right now I need you to tell me what you’ve done to those children. It’s very important, Kate.”

Before she could speak, two more men entered the large room and spoke to Martin. “Sir, Director Sloane would like to speak with you.”

“In the building, sir. We’ve been instructed to escort you to him. I’m sorry, sir.”

Martin stood slowly, looking worried. “Take her downstairs, to the observation deck for the excavation. And… Guard the door. I’ll be along shortly.”

Martin’s men escorted Kate out, keeping a safe distance, but watching her like a hawk. She noticed that the other men treated Martin the same way.

Harto watched as the mysterious man pushed up onto his elbows, tore his helmet and goggles off, then looked around, confused. He threw the head gear over the side of the boat, and after lying down for a few minutes more, he struggled with some straps at the side of his suit. Finally, he managed to tear them loose, and he tossed the bulky vest over the side as well. Harto had noticed a large hole in the chest area of the vest. Maybe it was damaged. The man rubbed his chest, breathing heavily.

He was an American or maybe a European. This surprised Harto. He knew the man was white — he could see part of his face when they brought him aboard the boat, but he assumed the man was Japanese, or maybe Chinese. Why would a European soldier be here, in the river? Maybe he wasn’t a policeman. Maybe he was a criminal, a terrorist, or a drug cartel soldier. Had Harto gotten them into something dangerous? He paddled faster. Eko saw the boat starting to turn, and he paddled faster too. The boy was learning so quickly.

When the white man’s breathing had leveled off some, he sat up and began speaking English.

Eko looked back. Harto didn’t know what to say. The soldier spoke slowly. Harto said the only English he knew. “My wife speak English. She help you.”

The man sunk again to his back. He stared up at the sky and rubbed his chest while Harto and Eko paddled.

David assumed the bullet to the chest had killed the bio-monitor in the body armor. It had sure done a number on him. The tracker in the helmet would still be active, but it was at the bottom of the river.

God bless these Jakartan fisherman. They had saved him, but where were they taking him? Maybe Immari had announced a reward for him — these two had simply caught a lottery ticket. Or maybe David was on the dinner menu tonight. He could barely breathe, would probably put up about as much fight as a Thanksgiving turkey. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He had to rest. He watched the river for a minute, then closed his eyes.

David felt the soft comfort of a bed beneath him. A middle-aged Jakartan woman held a wet rag at his forehead. “Can you hear me?” When she saw his eyes open, she turned away and began yelling in another language.

David grabbed her arm. She looked frightened. “I’m not going to hurt you. Where am I?” he said. He realized that he felt much better. He could breathe again, but the pain was still there in his chest. He sat up and released her arm.

The woman told him their address, but David didn’t know it. Before he could ask another question, she backed out of the room, watching him cautiously, her head tilted slightly.

He stood and walked around the home. It was several rooms with paper thin walls covered with homemade art, mostly depicting fisherman. He opened a rickety screen door and walked out onto a terrace. The home was on the third or fourth level of a “building” with many similar homes — all with white plaster walls, dirty screen doors, and terraces stacked like stair steps climbing up the banks of the river below. He looked out into the distance. As far as the eye could see, he saw stacks and stacks of these homes, like pasteboard boxes stacked on top of each other. Clothes hung on lines outside each one, and here and there, women were beating rugs, sending dust rising into the setting sun like demons fleeing the earth.

David glanced down toward the river. Fishing boats were coming and going. A few had small motors, but most were powered by paddlers. His eyes searched the buildings above. Would they be here already, looking for him? Then he saw them. Two men, Immari Security, exiting on the second floor below him. David backed into the shadow of the balcony and watched the men go into the next home. How long did he have? Five, maybe ten minutes?

He walked back into the home and found the family huddled together in what passed for a living room, though it had two small beds in it as well. The two parents corralled a boy and a girl behind them, as if David’s look could harm them.

At 6’3”, David was almost two heads taller than the man and woman, and his muscular frame almost filled the narrow doorway, blocking the last rays of the setting sun. He must look like a monster to them, or an alien, a completely different species.

David focused on the woman. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you speak English?”

“Good. I need help. It is very important. A woman and two children are in danger. Please ask your husband if he will help me.”

Martin Grey walked into the room cautiously, eyeing Dorian Sloane as if he were an apparition. The Director of Immari Security stood on the far side of Martin’s corner office on the 66th floor of the Immari Jakarta Headquarters. Sloane looked out over the Java Sea, watching the boats come and go. Martin thought the younger man hadn’t seen him come in, so he was startled when he spoke. “Surprised to see me, Martin?”

Martin realized Sloane had watched him enter in the glass’s reflection. He saw Sloane’s eyes there now. They were cold, calculating, intense… Like a predator watching his prey, waiting to strike. The incomplete reflection hid the rest of his face. His hands were clasped behind his back. His long black trench coat looked so out of place here in Jakarta, where heat and humidity forced even bankers into less formal attire. Only body guards, or anyone with something to hide covered up so much.

Martin made an effort to look casual. He strode to his oak desk in the middle of the giant office. “Yes, actually. I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time—”

“Don’t. I know it all, Martin.” Sloane turned around slowly and spoke deliberately, never taking his eyes off Martin as he walked toward the older man behind the desk. “I know about your little ice fishing expedition in

Martin shifted his feet, angling to get behind the desk, to put something between the two of them, but Sloane altered his vector, approaching to the side. Martin stood his ground. He wouldn’t back away, even if the brutal man cut his throat right there in his office.

Martin returned Sloane’s stare. The younger man’s face was lean, muscular, but rough — not rugged — years of hard living had taken its toll. It was a face that knew pain.

Sloane stopped his prowling march three feet from Martin. He smiled slightly, like he knew something Martin didn’t, as if some trap had been sprung, and he was simply waiting. “I would have found out sooner, but I’ve been quite busy with this Clocktower situation. But I think you already know about that.”

“I’ve certainly seen the reports. Unfortunate and untimely, to be sure. And as you mentioned, I’ve had my hands full as well.” Martin’s hands started to shake slightly. He stuffed them in his pockets. “I had planned to reveal these recent developments — Antarctica, China—” “Be careful, Martin. Your next lie could be your last.” Martin swallowed and looked at the floor, thinking.

“I just have one question, Old Man. Why? I’ve collected all these threads you’ve spun, but I still don’t see your end game.”

“I haven’t betrayed my oath. My goal is our goal: to prevent a war we both know we can’t win.”

“No. Dorian, there is another way. It’s true, I’ve kept these… developments to myself, but for good reason — it was premature, I didn’t know if they would work.”

“And they haven’t. I read the reports from China, all the adults died. We’re out of time.”

“True, the test failed, but because we used the wrong therapy. Kate used something else; we didn’t know it at the time, but she will tell me. We could walk into the tombs by this time tomorrow — we could finally learn the truth.”

It was a long shot, and Martin was almost surprised when Sloane broke his unblinking glare. His eyes looked away, then down. A moment passed and finally, he turned around, pacing back toward the windows, taking up his original position when Martin had entered the room. “We already know the truth. And as for Kate and the new therapy… You took her children. She won’t talk.”

Martin was surprised by the question. Was Sloane testing him? Or did he think…

“No,” Martin said. “We’re following a more extensive quarantine protocol, just to be on the safe side. I’m told the site is almost secure.”

“Of course. I’ll inform the site.” Martin reached for the phone. He couldn’t believe this break. The hope felt like a breath of fresh air after being under water for three minutes too long. He dialed quickly.

Sloane turned away from the windows. The bloodthirsty stare had returned. His eyes burned holes in Martin. “I’m not asking. We will open that sub together. I’m not letting you out of my sight, not until this is over.”

Martin put the phone down. “Very well, but I must speak with Kate first.” Martin inhaled, straightening his back. “And now, I’m not asking. You need me, we both know it.”

Sloane looked at Martin through the window’s reflection, and Martin thought he saw a small smile cross his lips. “I’ll give you ten minutes with her, and when you fail, we’ll leave for Antarctica, and I’ll leave her to people who will make her talk.”

David watched the Immari Security officers pivot and then run into the fiveroom plaster home on the corner of the row. He had picked this home specifically because of its layout.

The men swept the rooms, moving in swift, mechanical motions, entering each room with their handguns held in front of them, jerking left, then right.

Clear. Clear. Clear.” He heard their pace slow as they walked out of the now “safe” residence.

When the second man passed him, David silently slid behind him, covered his mouth with a damp cloth, and waited for the chloroform to fill his mouth and nostrils. The man thrashed about, trying desperately to grab David as he lost control of his limbs with each passing second. David held tight at his mouth. No sound escaped. The man slumped to the ground, and David was about to turn his attention to the other man when he heard the radio in the next room crackle to life.

“Immari Recon Team Five, be advised, Clocktower reports a field locker in your area has been accessed. Target believed to be in close proximity and could be in possession of weapons and explosives from the locker. Proceed with caution. We’re sending backup units.”

“Cole?” the other man called from the next room. David could hear the dirt grinding below the soldier’s boots. He was walking slowly now, like a man marching through a minefield, where any step could be his last.

As David rose to his feet, the man burst through the doorway, his gun pointed at David’s chest. David lunged for him. They collapsed to the ground and fought for the gun. David slammed the man’s hands into the dirty floor, and the gun skidded to the wall.

The man repelled David off of him and began crawling for the gun, but David was on him again before he got far, gripping the man’s neck with the crook of his elbow in a tight strangle hold. He placed the heel of his hand on the man’s upper back to get more leverage. He could feel his prey’s airways close. Not much longer.

The man flopped back and forth and clawed at the arm around his neck. He reached down, trying to grasp… what? His pocket? Then the man had it — a knife from his boot. He stabbed back at David, connecting with his side. David heard his clothes rip and saw the blood on the knife, which was coming at him again. He slid to the side, barely missing the second jab. He moved his hand from the man’s back up to his head and using the cross-grip with his arm around the man’s neck, he ripped hard. The loud snap rang out and the man slumped to the floor.

David rolled off the dead mercenary and stared at the ceiling, watching two flies chase each other.

Martin’s men had taken Kate deep underground, then led her down a long corridor that opened onto what looked like a large aquarium. The glass window was at least fifteen feet tall and maybe sixty wide.

Kate didn’t understand what she saw. The scene beyond the glass was clearly the bottom of The Bay of Jakarta, but it was the creatures moving about that puzzled her. At first she thought they were some sort of illuminated sea creatures, like jelly fish, drifting down to the bottom then floating back to the surface. But the lights were wrong. She walked closer to the glass. Yes — they were robots. Almost like robotic crabs, with lights that swiveled like eyes and four arms, each with three metallic fingers. They burrowed into the ground, then emerged with items in their mechanical hands. She strained to see, what were the items?

Kate turned to see Martin. The look on his face gave her pause, worried her. He looked tired, dejected, resigned. “Martin, please tell me what’s going on. Where are the children that were taken from my lab?”

“In a safe place, for now. We don’t have much time, Kate. I need to ask you some questions. It’s very important that you tell me what you treated those children with. We know it wasn’t ARC-247.”

How could he know that? And why did he care what she had treated them with? Kate tried to think. Something was wrong here. What would happen if she told him? Was the soldier, David, right? “I will tell you, but I want the children back first,” she said.

Martin walked over, joining her beside the glass wall. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, but you have my word: I will protect them. You have to trust me, Kate. Many lives are at stake.”

Martin turned, walking away from her, seeming to ponder. “What if I told you there was a weapon, somewhere in this world, that was more powerful than anything you can imagine? A weapon capable of wiping out the entire human race. And that what you treated those children with is our only chance at survival, our only means to resist this weapon?”

“Does it? You know enough about evolution to know that it’s not. The human race isn’t nearly as safe as we think it is.” He motioned toward the aquarium wall, toward a robot floating down. “What do you think is going on out there?”

“Does this look like a treasure hunt to you?” When Kate said nothing, he continued. “What if I told you there was a lost coastal city out there? And that it was only one of many around the world. Around 13,000 years ago, most of Europe was under two miles of ice. New York city was covered by a mile of ice. In the span of a few hundred years, the glaciers melted and sea levels rose almost four hundred feet, wiping out every coastal settlement on the face of the planet. Even today, almost half the human population lives within 100 miles of the coast. Imagine how many people lived on the coast then, when fish were the most reliable source of food and the seas were the easiest method of trade. Think of the settlements and early cities that were lost forever, the history we’ll never recover. The only surviving record we have of this event is the story of The Great Flood. The people who survived the deluge from the glaciers were keen to warn generations that came after them. The story of the Flood is a historical fact, the geological record proves it, and the story appears in The Bible and all the texts we’ve recovered before it and after it. Cuneiform tablets from Akkadia, text from Sumeria, native American civilizations — they all tell of the Flood, but no one knows what happened before it.”

“Atlantis is not what you think it is. My point is that there is so much below the surface — so much of our own history that we don’t know. Think about what else was lost at the time of the Flood. You know the genetic history. We know that at least two species of humans survived to the time of the Flood — maybe three. Maybe more. We’ve recently found Neanderthal bones at Gibraltar that are 23,000 years old. We could find bones that are even younger. We’ve also found bones that were only about 12,000 years old — dated to around the time of the Flood — less than a hundred miles from where we now stand, off the main island of Java, on Flores Island. We think these hobbit-like humans walked the earth for almost 300,000 years. Then, suddenly, 12,000 years ago, they die out. The Neanderthals evolved 600,000 years ago — they had roamed the earth nearly three times longer than us when they died out. You know the history.”

“Why do you think the Neanderthals and Hobbits died out? They had been around a long time before humans walked onto the scene.”

“That’s right. The human race is the biggest mass murderer of all time. Think about it, we’re hard-coded to survive. Even our ancient ancestors were driven by this impulse, driven enough to recognize the Neanderthals and Hobbits as dangerous enemies. They may have slaughtered dozens of human sub-species. And that legacy shamefully lives on. We attack whatever is different, anything we don’t understand, anything that might change our world, our environment, reduce our chances of survival. Racism, class warfare, sexism, east vs west, north and south, capitalism and communism, democracy and dictatorships, Islam and Christianity, Israel and Palestine, they’re all different faces of the same war: the war for a homogeneous human race, an end to our differences. It’s a war we started a long time ago, one we’ve been fighting ever since. A war that operates in every human mind below the subconscious level, like a computer program, constantly running in the background, guiding us to some eventuality.”

Kate didn’t know what to say, couldn’t see how it could involve her trial and her children. “You expect me to believe those two children are involved in this ancient cosmic struggle for the human race?”

“Yes. Think about the war between the Neanderthals and Humans. The battles between the Hobbits and Humans. Why did we win? The Neanderthals had bigger brains than us and they were certainly larger and stronger. But our brains were wired differently. Our minds were wired to build advanced tools, solve problems, and anticipate the future. Our mental software gave us an advantage, but we still don’t know how we got it. We were animals, just like them, 50,000 years ago. But some Great Leap Forward gave us an advantage we still don’t understand. The only thing we know for sure is that it was a change in brain wiring, possibly a change in how we used language and communicated. A sudden change. What if another change is under way? Those children’s brains are wired differently. You know how evolution works. It’s never a straight line. It operates on trial and error. Those children’s brains could simply be the next version of the operating system for the human mind — like the new version of Windows or Mac OS — a newer, faster version… with advantages over the previous release — us. What if those children or others like them are the first members of a new branch emerging in the human genetic tree? A new subspecies. What if, somewhere on this planet, a group already has the new software release? How do you think they would treat us, the old humans? Maybe the same way we treated the last humans that weren’t as smart as us — the Neanderthals and Hobbits.”

“That’s absurd, those children are no threat to us.” Kate studied Martin. He looked different, the look in his eyes, she couldn’t place it. And what he was saying, all the talk of genetics and evolutionary history — telling her things she already knew… but why?

“It may not seem that way, but how can we really know?” Martin continued. “From what we know of the past, every advanced human race has wiped out every race they viewed as a threat. We were the predator last time, but we’ll be the prey next time.”

“We’ve already crossed it, we just don’t know it. That’s the nature of the Frame Problem — in a complex environment, we simply can’t know the consequences of our actions, however good they seem at the time. Ford thought he was creating a device for mass transportation. He also gave the world the means to destroy the environment.”

Kate shook her head. “Listen to yourself, Martin. You sound crazy, delusional.”

Martin smiled. “I said the same thing when your father gave me the same speech.”

Kate considered Martin’s claim. It was a lie, it had to be. At the very least it was a distraction, a play for her trust, an effort to remind her that he had taken her in. She stared him down. “You’re telling me you took those children to prevent evolution?”

“Not, exactly… I can’t explain everything, Kate. I really wish I could. All I can tell you is that those children hold the key to preventing a war that will wipe out the human race. A war that has been coming since the day our ancestors sailed out of Africa 60-70,000 years ago. You have to trust me. I need to know what you did.”

“The soldier who picked me up from the police station. Are you involved in it — Toba?”

Two guards took her by the arms, forcing her out of the room and down the long corridor she had traveled down to meet Martin.

“Director Sloane said to tell you your time is up — she won’t talk, and she knows too much anyway. He’s waiting at the helipad.”

David slapped Cole again, and he came around. He couldn’t have been more than 25. The young man looked up through sleepy eyes that grew wide when they saw David.

The man glanced around, searching for help or maybe an exit. “William Anders.” The man searched his body for weapons but found none.

“Look at me. You see the body armor I’m wearing? You recognize it?” David stood, letting the man take in the head-to-toe Immari battle gear he wore. “Follow me,” David said.

The groggy man stumbled into the next room where his partner’s dead body lay, his head turned at an awkward, unnatural angle.

The man swallowed and steadied himself in the doorway. “Cole. Name’s Cole Bryant.”

David could see that Cole was coming out of the haze. He would be dangerous soon. He needed to find out if Cole Bryant fit the bill.

“They go trick-or-treating in Fort Collins?” “What?” Cole edged toward the door.

“Stop moving.” David’s voice was harder. “That feeling at your back, that tightness. You feel that?”

The man touched his lower back, trying to slide a hand into his armor. Confusion clouded his face.

David walked to a duffel bag in the corner of the room and threw the flap open, revealing several square and rectangular brown blocks that looked like Play-doh wrapped in Saran wrap. “You know what this is?” Cole nodded.

“I put a small row of this explosive up your spine. This wireless trigger controls it.” David held his left hand out, showing Cole a small cylinder about the size of two double AA batteries put end-to-end. The top had a round red button that David’s thumb held down. “You know what this is?”

“Very good, Cole. This is a dead man’s trigger.” David stood and slung the duffel bag around his shoulder. “If my thumb slips off this button, those explosives will go off, and it will turn your insides into a gelatinous goo. Keep in mind, there’s not enough explosive to hurt me, or even penetrate your body armor. I could be standing right next to you, and if I were shot or came to any harm, the explosion would liquefy your insides, leaving your hard outer shell, just like a Cadbury Cream Egg. You like Cadbury Cream Eggs, Cole?” David could see he was really scared now.

“Really? They were my favorite when I was a kid. Loved getting those things at Easter. My mom used to even save some to give me at Halloween after I got through trick-or-treating. Couldn’t wait to get home and crack one open. The thick chocolate shell, gooey yellow inside.” David looked away, as if remembering how delicious they were. He glanced back at Cole. “But you don’t want to be a Cadbury Cream Egg, do you Cole?”

Martin stepped out of the elevator onto the helipad. The sun had almost set. The sky was red and the wind at the top of 80-story building blew in from the sea, carrying the smell of saltwater. Ahead of him, Dorian Sloane waited with three of his men. When he saw Martin, he turned and motioned for the helicopter pilot to start the take-off sequence. The engine fired, and the rotor blades started to turn.

“Say another word, and I’ll make you sorry.” Martin stepped toward Sloane, now almost shouting over the roar of the helicopter. “She needs time, Dorian. She will talk. I urge you not to do this.”

“We both know we don’t — you said it yourself. And I was quite amused at the other things you said. I assumed you hated me because you hated my methods and plans.”

Sloane grabbed him by the arm and led him away from the helicopter where it would be easier to talk. And, Martin thought, where Sloane’s men couldn’t hear him.

“Listen, Martin, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll delay Toba Protocol until we find out if this can work. You let us work on the girl, we’ll get what we need in one, maybe two hours tops. If we leave now for Antarctica, we’ll have the information by the time we land. We could test a true Atlantis Gene Retrovirus within 8 hours. I know you’re looking for an entrance.” Martin began to speak, but Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t bother denying it, Martin. I have a man on the team. Within 24 hours, you and I could walk through the gates of the tombs together. No Toba. This is the only play you have, we both know it.”

“Martin. I’m not a monster. We just need what she knows, I would never permanently harm her.”

“We’ll agree to disagree on that point.” Martin looked down. “We should leave now. The Antarctica site is rather hard to get to.”

As they walked to the helicopter, Sloane pulled one of the men aside. “Get Tarea out of that cell, and tell him to find out what Warner did to those kids.”

They had driven in silence for almost ten minutes when David said, “Tell me Cole, how does a kid from Fort Collins wind up at Immari Security?”

Cole stared straight ahead, focusing on driving. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

Cole had a point. But David couldn’t explain — that would take away his leverage. Sometimes you had to be a bad guy to save the good guys.

They continued on in silence until they reached the Immari Jakarta Campus — a collection of six buildings surrounded by a high chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire. Guard houses flanked every entrance. David put the helmet and goggles on and handed Cole the ID of the man he’d killed.

At the gate, the guard stepped out of the booth and sauntered over to the car. “ID?”

The guard took the IDs. “Thanks, asshole. I’ve only been reading for 40 years now.”

David pulled the helmet off and looked straight forward, then to the side, hoping the side view would pass, that the closer look was just mild professional hazing or the insecure guard pounding his chest.

The guard examined the ID then scrutinized David. He repeated the motion several times. “Just a minute.” He hurried back to the booth.

David drew his gun and reached across the car in one fluid motion. The guard dropped the phone and reached for his gun. David fired a single shot, hitting the man in the left shoulder, just above where the vest ended. The man collapsed to the ground. He would live, but his attitude probably wouldn’t improve.

Cole looked over at David, then gunned the car toward the main Immari Headquarters building.

“Park at the rear entrance, near the boat landing.” David reached into the backseat and grabbed a small pack filled with explosives. He pulled the duffel bag with the remaining charges into the floorboard.

In the distance, they heard the wail of sirens erupt across the campus perimeter.

They entered the building through an unguarded loading dock door. David placed a charge on the wall next to the door. He punched a code into the detonator, and it began beeping. It was hard to do one-handed, but he had to keep his thumb on the trigger for Cole’s sake.

They moved down the hallway, and David placed additional explosives every twenty feet or so.

David had opted not to tell Cole anything before they arrived — his captive could have found a way to communicate the information to Immari HQ, or they could be intercepted. Either way, there was no upside. Now he had to explain. “Listen, Cole. They’re holding a woman somewhere in this building. Dr. Kate Warner. We need to find her.”

Cole hesitated for a moment, then said, “The holding cells and interrogation rooms are in the middle of the building, on the 47th floor… But even if she is there and you get her out of the room, you’ll never get out of the building. Security is on its way here now, and there are already dozens of guards in this building alone. Plus field agents who have returned.” Cole motioned to the dead man’s trigger in David’s left hand. “What happens to me? If you…”

“Yeah, the main armory on three, but most of the weapons and armor are gone — the entire field regiment was deployed to kill you today.”

“It won’t matter; they wouldn’t have taken what I need. When we have the girl, I’ll give you this trigger, you have my word, Cole. Then I’ll make my own way out.”

Cole nodded once, then said, “There’s a service stairwell without cameras.”

“One thing before we go.” David opened a supply closet and lit a fire. In seconds, the flame licked up the wood racks toward the smoke detector on the ceiling.

Fire alarms called out around them as flickering LED lights punctuated the din, and pandemonium broke out. Doors opened, people ran from rooms left and right, sprinklers sprang to life, and water soaked the fleeing masses.

On the elevator, Kate had fought at the guards’ vice-grip hold on her arms. They pinned her to the wall until the elevator doors opened, then hauled her into a room with what looked like a reclining dentist’s chair. They threw her down, strapped her in, and said, “The doctor will be right in.” They had laughed as they walked out.

Now she waited. The relief at seeing Martin felt like a million years ago. The wide straps cut into her arms, just above where the zip-ties had gouged her wrists. Fear started to grip her. The room’s walls were stark white, and except for the chair, the only thing in the room was a steel high-top table with a round bundle on it. She could barely see it from the reclining chair, which forced her gaze up at the buzzing florescent lights.

The door opened, and she craned her head up to see. It was him — the man who had taken the kids. The man who took her from the soldier’s van. A wide smile spread across his face. It was a mean smile, the kind that said, “I have you now.”

He stopped a few feet from her face. “You’ve gotten me in a lot of trouble today, little girl. But life is about second chances.” He walked over to the steel table and unrolled the bundle. Out of the corner of her eye, Kate could barely make out the gleam of steel utensils, long and pointy. He glared back at her over his shoulder. “Oh, who am I kidding? In my experience, life is about payback.” He took out one of his tools of torture — a smaller version of a grilling skewer. “You’re going to tell me what I need to know, and I hope it takes as long as physically possible.”

Another man came in. He wore a white coat and held something Kate couldn’t quite see, possibly a syringe. “What are you doing?” he asked the torturer.

Kate lay there helpless as the men stared at each other, the torturer holding the silver prod, the white-coat clutching the syringe.

Finally, syringe-man said, “Whatever. I’m going to give her this, then you can do whatever you want.”

“Something new we’re using in Pakistan. Basically turns their brains to mush; they’ll tell you anything.”

“Sometimes. Been lots of different side effects. We’re still working on it.” He jammed the oversized syringe into Kate’s arm and injected slowly. She felt the cold liquid fill her veins. She fought against the straps, but they were too tight.

The torturer set the silver tool down and walked over to Kate. He ran a hand down her chest and legs. “So cute. And feisty. Maybe they’ll let me have you when they have their answers.”

Kate didn’t know how long it had been, didn’t know if she had been asleep, if she was awake now. Maybe not. Her body didn’t hurt. She couldn’t feel the straps. She was so thirsty. The lights were blinding. So bright. She turned her head to the side, licking her lips. So thirsty.

The ugly man was in her face. He grabbed her chin and jerked her back into the light. She squinted. His face, so mean. Angry. “I’d say we’re about ready for our first date, Princess.”

“But first, we need to get some paperwork out of the way. Just a couple of questions. Question number one: what did you give those children?” He pointed at the paper. “Ah, and we have a footnote here: we know it wasn’t A-R-C 2-4-7, whatever the hell that is. They know it wasn’t that, so don’t even try it. So, what was it? Final answer please.”

Kate tried to fight the urge to respond. She shook her head side-to-side, but in her mind’s eye, she saw herself in the lab, preparing it, worrying that it wouldn’t work, or that it would harm their brains, turn them to… mush… the drug they had given her… She had to…

He leaned over her. “Speak up, Princess. We can’t hear you. Operators are standing by to record your answers.”

He sat up. “Jesus, you guys hearing this? She’s fried.” He closed the door. “Time for plan B.” He did something in the corner of the room.

Then an alarm, and water, falling from the ceiling. Lights flashing now, even brighter than the lights before. Kate squeezed her eyes shut. How much time had passed? A loud sound, more of them. Gun fire. The door exploding.

The ugly man fell, bloody. They unstrapped her, but she couldn’t stand, she flowed out of the seat onto the ground like a child going down a water slide.

She could see him — the soldier from the van. He wore a backpack. He handed another man something. The man was scared, he put his thumb on it. The voices were muffled, like she was underwater.

The soldier took her face in his hands. “Gate? Dan view cheer bee? Gate?” His hands were warm. The water was cold. She licked her lips. She should have drunk some. Still so thirsty.

He jumped up, more gun blasts. He left. He was back. “Dan view foot your harms houuround bee?” He held her arms, but she couldn’t move them; they fell, lifeless, to the ground. They were made of concrete.

He picked her up in both his arms, strong arms. He ran. Ahead of them a wall of glass and steel exploded. Shards hit her, but they didn’t hurt.

They were flying. No, falling. He held her tight, with only one arm now. He reached back, trying to get something.

Then they were yanked back, caught on something. She flew, fell from his arms, but he held her, by one arm. She dangled as he glided above, suspended by strings from a white cloud. His grip was slipping, she was too wet, her clothes were wet. She was falling.

He trapped her with his feet, digging into her back and ribs. His hand moved up her arm and finally, he wrapped both legs around her. She faced down now, and she saw them.

Men, gunfire, below — the building and the docks were filling with them. More men ran out of the buildings and began firing. Beeps above. The bottom of the building exploded, throwing shrapnel and pieces of the soldiers into the parking lot.

Ripping sounds above; they fell faster now. The man wiggled, and she felt them flying away, moving farther out over the bay.

More sounds below — motors cranking and more gunfire. They twisted around, and she saw the marina swarming to life. Rapid beeps above. A car in the parking lot winked out of existence, sending a wall of flame and smoke hundreds of feet around it, engulfing everything and everyone. The gun fire stopped.

It was quiet, peaceful now. She saw the last ray of sunlight set over the Java Sea as darkness fell. They hung there for a time, Kate didn’t know how long.

Above, she heard another rip, and they were plummeting to the black sea below. Kate felt him struggling, reaching for something. The legs around her slipped; they finally lost their grip, and she was falling faster, by herself.

Seconds passed in slow motion. She rolled as she fell, saw the man floating above her, floating away from her.

She heard but didn’t feel the loud crack as the water engulfed her, pushing her down, now pulling her down. Water, cold salt water was in her mouth and her nose, and she couldn’t breathe, could only suck in water. It burned. The darkness was almost complete, just a glimmer of light at the surface where the moon kissed the sea.

Waiting. She fought not to breathe more water. Her mind went blank. No thought. Only cold water, all around her and burning in her lungs.

A flare, a burning stick falling down, too far away from her. And something swimming at the surface, too far away. Another flare, closer, but still too far. The creature bobbed it’s head below, swam, then came up for air. A third flare, and the figure dived below, toward her. It grabbed her and pulled her, kicking violently toward the surface. They would never reach it. She took another gulp of water, had to, needed air. It invaded her, felt like cold concrete being poured down her mouth. And it pulled at her so hard, not letting her rise, and the moon was there and then everything was so dark.

She felt the air now, the wind and the droplets of rain, heard the splashing around. The splashing went on so long, and the arm was around her, keeping her up, her head out of the water.

There was a loud sound, a huge boat, with lights. It would hit them. It was coming straight for them. She saw her rescuer wave his hands and pull her out of its path.

Another man, pulling her up, and she was on her back, and her rescuer was over her, pressing on her chest, pinching her nose, and… he kissed her.

His breath was so hot; it filled her mouth and pushed into her lungs. She kissed him back, and it made her so happy. She hadn’t done that in so long. She fought to lift her arms, but she couldn’t, she tried again, and yes, she reached up, tried to hold him, his mouth to hers. He pushed her arms away, held them down. She lay there, and then it exploded — her chest. Water gushed from her mouth and nose as he rolled her over. The water kept coming in coughs and gags. Her stomach spasmed and she drew air in desperate breaths.

He held her until her breathing slowed. Every breath burned, her lungs still wouldn’t fill, every intake was shallow.

He yelled out to the other man, “Arto! Arto! Tights! Tights!” He drew a hand across his neck in a cutting motion. Nothing happened.

He got up and marched away. A second later, the lights went off and they were moving, fast. The rain whipped at her face, but she just lay there, unable to move.

He picked her up again, just as he had carried her out of the tall tower. He took her below and laid her down on a small bed in a cramped room. She tried to reach for him again, but he was gone. Then back again, then gone, as if appearing and disappearing like magic.

She heard voices. Saw him pointing at a man. “Arto, plop, plop!” He pointed again.

Then he came for her, collecting her in his strong arms and they were off the boat, on land again. They walked along a beach, toward a wrecked town, like something that had been bombed in World War II. They were inside some kind of cottage, and the lights were on. She was so tired, couldn’t stay awake a second longer. He set her down on a bed of flowers, no a floral comforter. She closed her eyes and almost went to sleep, but she felt him at her feet, pulling her wet pants off. She smiled. He reached for her shirt. He would see — the scar. His hands gripped the shirt, but she held them, struggling to hold the shirt down.

A motor started, a small one. And warm air around her, on top of her, then she twisted and it warmed her stomach, her hair. Her whole body was warm.

Cole lay face-down on his stomach, waiting. He had been waiting for almost an hour as the bomb tech fiddled with his vest. He fought not to squirm, not to lose control of his bladder, not to scream. One thought ran threw his head, over-and-over: I’ll never see my family again. He should have never taken the job, regardless of the money. They had saved almost enough — $150,000 of the $250,000 they needed to open a Jiffy Lube. With his money from two straight deployments with the Marines, they would have been fine. But he wanted to have “a little extra” saved — just in case business was light those first few years. The Immari recruiter had said, “You’re mostly there for show, to make our clients feel safe. As you requested, we’ll assign you to a low-security region, definitely not the Middle East, or even South America. Europe requires seniority. Southeast Asia has been very quiet. You’ll love the weather in Jakarta.” Now some other Immari Suit would be knocking on his wife’s door. “Ma’am, your husband was killed in an unfortunate Cadbury Cream Egg incident. Our deepest condolences. What? Oh, no ma’am, this never happens. Here are his cream egg remains.” Cole let out a harsh, almost irrational laugh. He was losing it.

“Hang in there, Cole. We’re almost in,” the bomb tech said from behind a thick curved blast shield. The man wore a bulky helmet and peered through a glass strip at the top of the blast shield. His arms jutted out through two silver accordion-type metal arm sheaths that looked like the arms from the robot on the 60’s TV show Lost in Space.

The tech carefully cut the straps on Cole’s back vest. He lifted the vest slightly and bent closer to the glass slit in the blast shield for a better look.

“It’s not booby trapped.” Inch-by-inch, the tech peeled the vest back. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Cole almost jumped when he heard the man throw the vest the rest of the way over. Was there a timer? A backup? He felt the man’s hands work quickly at his spine. Then he felt the gloved hands go limp. He heard the screeching of metal on metal as the tech forcefully slid the blast shield out of the way. He worked with his bare hands now.

The man looked at him with contempt. “Here’s your bomb, Cole. Be careful now, you could be allergic to polyester.” He handed Cole a rolled up T-Shirt.

Cole unrolled the t-shirt. It read, in big black magic marker letters: “BOOM!” Below it, in smaller print: “Sorry…”

Harto put his arm around his wife and gathered his son and daughter at his side. They stood on the wooden dock at the marina where Harto had retrieved the boat the soldier had told him about. The four of them beheld the machine, no one saying a word. It sparkled. It all still seemed like a dream to Harto. The boat was the most beautiful thing he’d seen since his wife on their wedding day.

His wife ran a hand along the boat, maybe to see if it was truly real. “It’s almost too nice to fish in.”

The boat was a mini-yacht. At 60 feet, it was capable of travel between the small islands off Java. It could hold up to thirty people above deck and sleep as many as eight below deck in the master stateroom, port guest stateroom, and aft guest stateroom. The upper deck and flybridge would give breathtaking views.

“We’re not going to fish with it,” Harto said. “We’re going to take others fishing. The foreigners living here and the tourists. They pay lots of money for this — to go fishing in the deep sea. And for other things: diving and touring the islands.”

His wife looked from Harto to the boat, then back again, as if trying to assess whether it would work or maybe how much work it would be for her. “You going to finally learn English, Harto?”

“I’ll have to. There aren’t enough fish in the sea to feed all the Jakartan fisherman. Entertainment is the future.”

That night Kate dreamed that she had been kidnapped by her wicked uncle. She had been riding in an iron chariot with a knight and his men. Her uncle had smashed the chariot and killed the men, casting her knight out into the darkness. Her uncle had taken her to his castle and locked her in a dungeon, deep below the castle walls. He prodded her with questions, demanding she reveal her most secret of secrets. She knew if she told him, he would eat her children and become a powerful monster, a monster no one could kill. He told her lies. Then more lies, believable lies. She wanted to believe them, but she resisted. The more he said, the more she questioned. Did he kill her father? Was her whole life a lie?

His men took her from the dungeon into a tower. They strapped her down and gave her a potion, and she felt herself transforming. It was eating her will from the inside out. Just before it took her over completely and she lost the power to resist, the knight kicked in the tower doors and killed her captors. He lifted her up and he flew away, casting fire and death to their pursuers who shot arrows from below. But the castle moat was too wide, and they fell into the treacherous water. She was lost, sinking, but he rescued her again, pulling her from the abyss. His kiss brought her back to life, and she was so happy — happy to be free from her uncle and happy it was the knight who had rescued her.

The knight’s loyal savage friend rowed them far, far away, to a deserted isle with a small cottage. The knight carried her ashore and set her down in a bed of flowers, where the warm wind lulled her to sleep.

Kate awoke to the worst headache of her life. It hurt to move. She lay in the bed for a moment, swallowing several times. Opening her eyes hurt. The sunlight hurt. She turned over, away from the window. The window. The bed. Where was she?

She pushed herself up, and with each inch she moved, the pain spread across her. Her body was sore, but it didn’t feel like the soreness from exercise — she felt like she’d been beaten all over with wooden spoons. She felt sick, hurt. What happened to me?

The room came into focus. A cottage or some kind of vacation home on the beach. The room was small, with one double bed and some rustic wooden furniture. Out the window, she saw a large porch that opened onto a deserted beach — not the pristine, well-kept kind you saw at resorts, but the type you might find on a real deserted island — a rough, unkempt beach, littered with coconuts, tree bark, tropical plants, and here and there, dead fish that had washed up from last night’s violent rain and high tide.

Kate pushed the covers off and moved slowly to get out of bed. A new sensation gripped her: nausea. She waited, hoping it would pass, but it only got worse. She felt the saliva gathering at the back of her throat.

She ran for the bathroom, barely making it in time. She collapsed to her knees and dry heaved into the toilet, once, then again, and a third time. The convulsions sent shock waves of pain through her already ravaged body.

The nausea receded, and she rolled off her knees to sit by the toilet, propping an elbow on the toilet seat and resting her hand on her forehead.

He bent down to her and tipped the orange concoction toward her. “Give it a try.”

He held the back of her head, and she realized she was drinking it before she could object again. It was sweet and coated her raw throat. She drank it down and he helped her to her feet.

There was something she had to do. What was it? Something she had to get. Her head still pounded.

He helped her into the bed, but she stopped. “Wait, there’s something I have to do.”

Without another word, he maneuvered her into the bed and she felt so sleepy, like she had taken a sleeping pill. The sweet orange elixir.

Martin Grey leaned toward the plane window and peered out at the giant iceberg below. The Nazi sub jutted out of a mountain of ice near the center of the floating island, which covered almost 47 square miles — about the size of Disney World. Where the sub met the ice, workers and heavy machinery were hard at work excavating, searching for the sub's entrance. Cutting into the side was a last resort, but it would come to that if they didn't reach the hatch soon.

The wreckage below the sub was even more mysterious — teams were still working on theories. Martin had one of his own, an idea he would take to his grave if necessary.

"When did you find it?" Dorian Sloane's voice startled Martin, and he turned to see the younger man standing over him, gazing out another window of the jet.

Martin opened his mouth to respond, but Sloane interrupted him. "No lies, Martin."

Martin slumped in the chair, and continued squinting out the window. "10 days ago."

Martin turned to him. "I wouldn't advise it. The wreckage is likely unstable. There's no way of knowing what's inside. There could be—"

"This is a job for robots. They can go into places we can't. They can withstand cold, and it will be cold in there, colder than you can imagine.

"Yes, it will be dangerous, even more dangerous, I think, if I go alone, with say, you left outside."

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