Dark Rising

FIFTY-TWO

General Meir Shavit sat at his desk, the transcript of Captain Adira Senesh’s debrief in his hands. After his niece’s retrieval from the Iranian desert, she had spent just one hour in hospital having her wounds tended to. While there, she had agreed to a short military interview. The general gave a half-smile; he knew his niece well – there was no way anyone could make her do anything she didn’t want to do.

The black hole technology she detailed in her report was astounding, and he prayed its genesis was an aberration – an invention by accident rather than by design. He also hoped that with the destruction of the laboratory, all knowledge of the technology’s capability and creation had ceased to exist. Such power is the rightful property of no country, he thought.

The old man sat back and looked at the ceiling for a moment, his eyes tracing the plaster flowers in the ornate moulding. Humans were creative and self-destructive in equal measures, and once they had managed to imagine something, it was only a matter of time until they brought it into existence. We have merely bought ourselves some time, he thought.

He drew a deep breath, poured himself some more thick, dark coffee, and turned to the last page of Adira’s report, headed ‘EWP – Enhanced Warrior Project’, with a subheading: ‘The Arcadian Subject’. His eyebrows rose slightly as he read her account of the subject’s capabilities. As he had expected, the Americans had sent their secret weapon on the mission and Adira had witnessed it in action. But although she had been close enough to record its features in detail, she hadn’t managed to get any new data, not even a tissue sample. He looked at the grainy photograph she had supplied of the HAWC: Francis ‘Irish’ O’Riordan, a red-haired warrior, according to the report; an awesome soldier in combat. It was a shame he had been vaporised in the explosion.

The general blew air through his closed lips and shook his head. Without any body for the Israelis to retrieve, any samples or concrete evidence, the Americans still held all the cards – while Israel had nothing. He narrowed his eyes. Just because the primary subject was gone, the Arcadian project would not end, he was sure of that. But there was no reason for the Americans to share their results with Israel; they wouldn’t even admit the project existed.

He picked up his cup but held it without drinking. As his mind worked, he looked across the room and caught sight of his aged visage staring back at him from within a long gilded mirror. He continued to stare trance-like at the image as his thoughts turned inwards. Israel needs these new soldiers, he mused. We are the smallest army in the Middle East and surrounded by an ocean of hatred. It is only a matter of time before that ocean drowns us all. He blinked, and looked down at Adira’s report again. If Israel cannot have more men, we must make more of the men we have. We need to get a little closer.

He looked again at the transcribing officer’s notation at the foot of the report. Unusually, Adira had requested immediate leave to escort the two Americans to their waiting transport plane. Hmm, what are you up to, Addy? Shavit thought. Perhaps there was a bond there, something he could use. He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand; they needed someone inside the Americans’ tent, someone who had already been exposed to the Arcadian’s capabilities… Someone Israel could rely on, and someone the Americans trusted.

Yes, she would be perfect. Jack Hammerson owed him, and he wouldn’t be able to refuse a soldier of Captain Senesh’s capabilities.

The general made a small notation in the file and closed it. ‘Your job isn’t quite finished yet, Addy.’

Parvid Davoodi, the newly elected leader of Iran, cleared away the possessions of the former president, preparing the office for his own inhabitation. He picked up a framed picture of a smiling Mahmoud Moshaddam and shook his head. ‘How could you not know that all false prophets go to hell? Though perhaps now you do.’ He dropped the picture into the waste bin beside the desk.

One of Davoodi’s first acts in office had been to call the American president to assure him that the secret facilities at Natanz, Persepolis and Arak would be closed forever. During that conversation he had accepted an invitation to visit the United States – the first time in a generation that an Iranian leader had been invited by an American president onto their soil. Perhaps this is a new beginning for Iran, he thought.

He picked up his Qur’an, already open at his favourite page. From an open window, a warm square of sunlight lit the beautiful writing as he began to read.

*

At USSTRATCOM in Nebraska it was night and the weather was not so benign. Rain smashed against the dark window of Hammerson’s office. He was working late, and had turned off the lights so he could enjoy the storm passing over the base. He liked just sitting and watching nature’s power and raw aggression.

The secure phone beeped and he contemplated ignoring it. The mission was a success, but, he guessed, not quite over yet. Fuck it. He picked up the call. He squeezed the phone tight when he heard the deep voice on the other end.

‘Arcadian has secured the information as instructed, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s on its way to us now – potential unlimited energy for

… Yes, sir, we believe weaponisation is possible.’

He listened some more and his eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not sure I agree with that assessment, sir. His value in the field is undeniable. Yes, sir, I understand that, so far, we can’t reproduce his result without a more invasive study, but his capabilities develop every day – there is so much more to learn while he’s active. Once we retire him, that line of research will be lost forever. It is my recommendation that he stay on active duty, sir. His new capability development and this success compels it. Give me another year, sir. Science can wait at least that long.’

Hammerson inhaled and held the breath for a few seconds as he waited and listened. He exhaled when he heard the response.

‘Very good, sir.’

He hung up the phone just as the sky outside flashed, then boomed with rolling thunder. He had managed to extend Alex Hunter’s lifeline for just one more year. For the first time in his life, the Hammer felt old.