Dark Rising

FORTY-SEVEN

‘I’m sorry, Jack. You know we can’t let our enemies perfect nuclear technology,’ General Meir Shavit said. ‘They have said they wish to burn us from the map. They are only words until they have the technology to actually do it.’

Major Hammerson knew what a risk his friend was taking in preparing to strike first against Iran. Such an act could set fire to the entire Middle East; but failing to act now could mean the future obliteration of his country. It was a devil of a choice.

‘Meir, just give me two hours,’ the Hammer replied. ‘My team is still in there, and until I hear different, I have to assume they will succeed.’

There was silence on the phone for nearly thirty seconds; Hammerson’s hand tightened as he waited for a response.

‘The one you call Arcadian is there, isn’t he,’ the general said. ‘I think he must be very valuable. One day we will talk further on this… And remember, I also have a team in there. I can give you just one hour.’ The phone went dead.

Hammerson rubbed his forehead, disconnected the call and then immediately picked up the phone again. ‘Annie, get me the president.’

Lagudi’s forearms were heavily bruised, and one of the thick metacarpal bones in the back of his hand was broken. His training had taught him to ignore pain, but he knew he was wearing down. His opponent’s face was cut and battered but he was still strong – stronger than he was.

The HAWC struck out again with a flat-handed strike followed by a roundhouse kick, and once again they were both blocked. The Urakher countered with two massive lunge punches and a vicious snap-kick. Lagudi deflected the punches, but was only partially successful in diminishing the kick’s power – he felt something else splinter in his body. Lagudi was good, but he realised that his opponent was better. The oldest maxim in the fighting world kept sneaking into his head: A good big man will always beat a good little man.

The two-fingered snake strike flicked out at his neck so quickly he only registered it after it had been executed, and he knew immediately his larynx was crushed. It’d be a slow, suffocating death without a tracheotomy, and he doubted his opponent would give him a few minutes to cut a hole in his own throat and insert a breathing tube. Another immense blow smashed him to the ground – he had no breath left in his lungs.

The Urakher drew his leg back, preparing to deliver a massive kick to Lagudi’s head. He didn’t need finesse this time, just a lot of power to smash the skull.

Five gunshots rang out. Only two were on target; but as their target was the back of the Urakher’s head, two were enough – the man was dead before he fell to the ground.

Rocky looked across to see Dr Shomron sighting along his shaking pistol from under a table. The HAWC gave the scientist a bloody smile through lips that were turning a deep blue, and slowly nodded his thanks. Then he closed his eyes.

The Urakher lifted Adira as easily as if she were a child, one hand around her neck, the other on her gun. He tore it from her fingers and flung it away with disdain. He smiled; Adira could tell he was expecting to enjoy this.

She could hear the booming impacts against the door again – she needed to place a bet. If it was the Takavaran, it didn’t matter – she was dead anyway. If it was Alex, they stood a chance. From her sleeves she drew a pair of throwing spikes. She stabbed the first into the forearm of the Urakher up to the hilt, inserted between the ulna and radius bones and into the meat of the brachiordial muscle, and pushed the blade hard to the side. Not totally debilitating, but she knew it would hurt like hell – and, no matter how strong the man was, would cause the hand to automatically open. It did and she fell to the floor. A few seconds was all she needed…

She sighted the exit button at the far end of the white entrance corridor and, with unerring aim, launched the thin black blade. It struck the button perfectly and the door slid back.

She smiled when she saw what was on the other side. She had bet correctly.

The Urakher lifted her again and punched her hard in the face. Before she lost consciousness, she had a vision of a giant red bird flying towards her. Come the Arcadian, she thought, as everything went dark.

The toughened blade of the Ka-Bar shattered against the dense alloy of the security door, leaving Alex with only balled fists and a volcanic rage. He screamed his fury at the obstruction and backed away to the far wall. He lowered his shoulder, every muscle tensed as he commenced his charge. At that exact moment the door slid open. He continued anyway and went through like a red-streaked missile.

Alex’s body and senses were so supercharged that the world seemed to crawl around him. He took in the broken figure of Sam being pummelled by a towering man; the battered and still body of Rocky Lagudi, a dead giant next to him; another enormous man holding a small man in a lab coat at the far end of the command centre; and a fourth ogre, his foot lifted over Adira’s head, about to stomp the life from her.

The giant looming over Adira turned to Alex. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the man streaking towards him faster than a desert jaguar. Alex’s uniform top was shredded and singed at the edges, and blood streaked his face and his body. But it was his eyes, blazing with a murderous rage, that made the tall Urakher feel things he hadn’t felt since he was a small boy – fear and doubt.

The Urakher drew his gun, but Alex had reached him before he had a chance to fire. Alex struck the man on the cheekbone with enough force to crush his head and propel his body across the room. His large shape struck one of the metal computer cabinets and embedded itself into the steel frame.

*

The Urakher with Al Janaddi witnessed the blow and his eyes momentarily widened in disbelief. He called to his remaining colleague to finish with Sam and deal with Alex; he needed a few more minutes with the little man.

Through the viewing panel, the sphere glowed, then seemed to shrink into a dot of nothingness inside a white halo: Al Janaddi had initiated and opened the president’s Judgment Event. The plasma beam directed a purplish stream of charged electrons into the centre of the black hole and began to feed it. The screens in the viewing room registered movement – the rows of batteries began to fill and a graphic representation of the event showed as a small dot held in stasis between the encircling magnetic domains.

‘You have your event,’ the scientist said. He knew what was coming now, and tried to half-turn to see the battle behind him. Perhaps the Americans would be victorious. They would point their guns at the ugly monster next to him and shout, Step away.

He reached into his pocket, withdrew the small mass storage device and tried to turn his body a little more. If I can just show them what I have here…

The Urakher felt Al Janaddi try to twist in his grip, and he applied more pressure to the little man’s neck. He brought his other hand up to push once against the side of the scientist’s skull – the snap was barely audible. He threw the scientist’s body out of the way like a sack of rubbish and quickly turned back to the console to increase the plasma feed rate.

As the computer showed the plasma feed moving upwards, he began to sing softly – about the Mahdi, the Day of Judgment and Reckoning, Allah and his own coming martyrdom.

The matter surrounding the black hole now began to be absorbed. The president’s capsule seemed to elongate and point towards the pinprick of darkness in the centre of the room, then it lengthened, streaked, and disappeared into the nothingness.

‘Oh, blessed is the Mahdi!’ screamed the Urakher as he pushed the plasma stream rationing up to its maximum. Everyone in the room felt a wave of nausea pass over them as the black hole began to grow.

The Urakher at the console stared through the lead-plated glass at the pinprick of nothing that was darker and more powerful than anything that had ever existed on Earth. He felt the waves of energy wash over him and his singing became even louder.

Zachariah could feel the distortion in the atmosphere and in the very core of his own physical being. He didn’t know whether the Iranians had planned this, but the black hole was beginning to break out of whatever technology they were using to contain it. In a few minutes, it would either evaporate, or would start to feed on the matter around it and continue to grow until the planet ceased to exist.

Zach knew he couldn’t take down the massive Urakher at the console; besides, it may be too late to halt the black hole now. He could see it beginning to consume the laboratory behind the glass. He was scared and racked with indecision.

He shivered and felt light-headed – he thought he might be going into shock. His mouth was so dry. He wanted to get out, to run through the open door, and keep running until he was back home with Aunt Dodah. He was a little boy again, standing in a Tel Aviv street that swirled with heat and dust and shouting and madness. The charred smell of burnt flesh filled the air, and where his father had been just seconds before was now a blackened crater with red staining its edges. His mother was lying across him and she wouldn’t wake up; the back of her head and shoulders smoked as if on fire.

He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them he no longer saw his parents, but the shattered body of Rocky Lagudi, a moaning Sam Reid and then Adira’s blood-covered face. So much pain, so much sacrifice.

When the time comes, what will you do, Zach? Adira’s words came into his head and he touched his chest. There was warmth there. More words came: Without sacrifice, there is no freedom. Without freedom, there is no life.

Zachariah Shomron got to his feet, whispering to himself as he steeled his nerves.