Deep Storm (38 page)

She was supposed to get back to me forty-five minutes ago. Ive tried her mobile, but she isnt picking up. Im a little concerned.

Ill see if I cant track her down. Anything I can help with?

There was a pause. No thanks, Roger. Just see if you can locate Michele, please.

Will do. Corbett replaced the phone, then stood up, stepped out of his office, and walked down the hall.

In the reception area, four people were waiting. This in itself was very unusual Bishop ran a tight, efficient ship, and normally there was never more than one patient waiting to be seen. Corbett stepped into the nurses station. His psychiatric intern a gravely serious young man named Bryce was seated beside the receiving nurse, filling out a supplies request form.

Any idea where Dr. Bishop is? Corbett asked.

Bryce shook his head. Sorry.

She stepped out over an hour ago, the nurse offered.

Corbett turned to her. Did she say where she was going?

No, Doctor.

Corbett stared out at the reception area. Then he retreated back down the hall to his office. He brought up the internal directory on his digital notepad, looked up an extension, picked up the phone, and dialed.

Monitoring Services, Wolverton, came a gruff voice.

This is Dr. Corbett in the Medical Suite. I need you to run a trace on Michele Bishop.

Can I have your passphrase, Doctor?

Corbett gave it. The faint sound of keystrokes filtered over the phone. Then Wolverton spoke again. Shes currently in the Environmental Control spaces, deck eight.

Environmental Control? Corbett wondered aloud.

Is there anything else, Doctor?

That will be all, thanks. Slowly, thoughtfully, Corbett hung up the phone. Then he picked up his mobile and stopping just long enough in reception to tell Bryce he was temporarily in charge left the Medical Suite.

* * * * *

Environmental Control was a large, essentially unmanned warren of dimly lit compartments in a far corner of deck 8. It was filled with furnaces, compressors, humidification systems, electrostatic precipitators, and other devices designed to make the air on board the Facility as comfortable and germ free as possible. Although the floors and walls hummed with the spinning of a dozen turbines, there was remarkably little noise. The watchful, listening silence felt oppressive to Corbett. He opened his mouth to call Bishops name, but something about that silence made him reconsider. He moved quietly through the first compartment, into a second, and then into a third.

This last space was full of massive air ducts and steel-encased filter farms that rose from floor to ceiling. It was even darker than the previous two compartments, and Corbett threaded his way slowly between the ducts, looking from one side to the other. Had Bishop already left? Perhaps the tech in Monitoring had been mistaken and shed never been here. It seemed a highly unlikely spot, and

Suddenly, Corbett caught sight of her. She was kneeling before a bulkhead at the far end of the room, back to him, utterly absorbed in something. For a brief moment he thought she must be administering CPR; but then, squinting through the dim light, he realized what hed thought was a body was actually an oversized black duffel bag. He took a step closer. Strange: her elbows were rocking back and forth as if she were, in fact, performing cardiac massage. Corbett frowned, perplexed. Judging by the faint grunts of effort, whatever she was up to took some doing.

Corbett took another step forward. Now he could see over her shoulder. She was kneading a long, claylike brick, stretching it out into a thick, off-white rope about two feet long.

Two other such ropes had already been pressed against the steel bulkhead in front of her.

Before he could stop himself, Corbett drew in a sharp breath. Instantly, Bishop dropped the puttylike brick and jumped to her feet, whirling to face him.

Youre the saboteur, Corbett said, obviously. The one who tried to rupture the dome.

Her nostrils flared, but she said nothing.

Corbett knew he should do something run, call for help but he felt dazed, even paralyzed, by shock. What is that? he asked. Semtex?

Still Bishop said nothing.

Corbetts mind reeled. Its true that, despite working with her for months, he really knew very little about Michele Bishop. Even so, it seemed impossible. It cant be, it cant be. Maybe theres some mistake.

What are you doing? he asked.

At this, she finally spoke. I should think that would be obvious. The southern pressure spoke is just on the other side of this bulkhead.

Somehow, hearing her speak hearing this affirmation of treachery from her own lips broke Corbetts mental logjam. The pressure spokes are full of seawater, he said. Youre going to rupture the hull. Flood the Facility.

He took a step backward.

Stay where you are. Something in her voice made Corbett freeze.

Why are you doing this? As he spoke, he put his hands behind his back as casually as possible.

Bishop didnt reply. She seemed to be debating her next move.

Slowly, stealthily, Corbett slipped his cell phone out of his back pocket. He opened it as quietly as possible, then dialed 1231 with the edge of his thumb. It was the extension of his intern, Bryce: a number that could be entered quickly and easily, without looking. He fumbled for the mute switch; not finding it, he moved his thumb over the cell phones speaker, muffling it.

We dont have any Composition-4 on this side of the Barrier, he said. Howd you get it?

Any indecisiveness had now left Bishops face. She laughed mirthlessly at the question. A lot of medical by-products get transported back and forth in the Tub. You know that. The guards arent too eager to paw through a lot of red-bag waste. Its possible to get all sorts of things through that way. Such as this. And she dipped her hand into a pocket of the lab coat and pulled out a gun.

Corbett, still numb with surprise, looked at the gun with something like detachment. It was an ugly little weapon with an unusual glossy texture and a silencer snugged onto the barrel. He was about to ask how shed gotten it through the metal detectors, but the glossy look provided an answer: it was a ceramic-polymer composite, expensive and illegal.

If you flood the Facility, youll die too, he said.

Im setting the detonators for ten minutes. By that time Ill be on deck twelve, headed for the escape pod.

He shook his head. Michele, dont. Dont betray your country like this. I dont know what country youre working for, but it isnt worth it. This isnt the way.

Bishops face abruptly darkened. What makes you think Im working for a foreign government? she asked fiercely. What makes you think Im working for a government at all?

I Corbett began, then stopped, taken aback by this sudden outburst.

The United States cant be allowed to get its hands on whats down there. America has already shown, time and time again, how it abuses the power its given. We got the atomic bomb, and what did we do? Within six months wed nuked two cities.

You cant compare that to

What do you think America will do with the technology thats down there? America cant be trusted with that kind of power.

Technology? Corbett asked, genuinely confused. What technology are we talking about?

As quickly as the outburst began, it ended. Bishop didnt answer, simply shaking her head angrily.

Into the silence came the squawk of a male voice.

Now for the first time Corbett felt real fear grip his vitals. In the heated exchange hed forgotten to keep his thumb pressed over the cell phones speaker.

Bishops expression hardened further. Let me see your hands.

Slowly, Corbett raised his hands. The cell phone was in his right.

You! With a sudden movement, fast as a striking snake, Bishop pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger.

There was a puff of smoke; a sound remarkably like a sneeze; and then a terrible burning sensation exploded in Corbetts chest. A massive force threw him backward against a ventilator housing. He sank to the floor, wheezing and gargling. Just before an irresistible blackness enveloped him, he saw dimly Bishop stomp brutally on the cell phone, then kneel again and continue molding the brick of plastique against the outer bulkhead as rapidly as possible.

Chapter 48

Crane stepped into the elevator, pressed the button labeled 1. Even before the doors had slid shut he was pacing restlessly.

What was taking Michele Bishop so long?

Hed spoken with her more than ninety minutes before. Shed said it would take no longer than half an hour to assemble the scientists.

Had something gone wrong?

At last hed grown tired of cooling his heels in the temporary infirmary and decided to take one more crack at convincing Admiral Spartan. He had to try; the stakes were too high for him not to try. And anything even an argument beat sitting around.

As the elevator doors opened again, something occurred to him. He stepped out, plucked his cell phone from his pocket, dialed Central Services.

May I help you? a neutral female voice asked.

Yes, I need to speak with somebody named Vanderbilt. Gene Vanderbilt, in Oceanographic Research. I dont have access to a directory.

One moment, Ill connect you.

As Crane walked briskly down the pale red corridor, his phone clicked audibly a few times. Then a mans voice sounded: Oceanography, this is Vanderbilt.

Dr. Vanderbilt? Peter Crane here.

There was a brief pause. Youre Dr. Crane, right? Ashers man.

Thats correct.

Hes greatly missed.

Has Michele Bishop contacted you?

Dr. Bishop? No, not recently.

Crane stopped dead. She hasnt? And youve been in your lab?

Yes. For the past several hours.

Crane began to walk again, more slowly this time. Listen, Dr. Vanderbilt. Somethings happening, but I cant talk about it over the phone. Im going to need your help, and the help of the other top scientists.

What is it? Is there a medical emergency?

You could say that. Ill tell you the details in person. For now, all I can say is that it concerns the safety of the entire Facility and maybe a lot more besides.

Another pause. Very well. What is it you want me to do?

Gather your senior colleagues together as quickly and quietly as possible. When youve done that, ring me back.

It may take a few minutes. Some of them are in the classified section.

Then get to them as quickly as possible. Tell them not to say anything to anybody. Believe me, its vitally important, Dr. Vanderbilt Ill explain when I see you.

All right, Doctor. Vanderbilts voice had become slow, thoughtful. Ill see if I cant assemble a group in the deck twelve Conference Center.

Call my cell, its in the directory. Ill come up. He hung up, then clipped the phone to the pocket of his lab coat. If Spartan comes through, Ill just tell Vanderbilt everythings been resolved, he thought.

Ahead lay the double doors of the Drilling Complex. To his surprise, Crane noticed the doors were no longer guarded by marines but rather by two black ops agents armed with M16s. As he approached, one of them raised a hand for him to stop. The agent gave Cranes ID badge a careful scrutiny, then at last stepped back, pulling one of the doors open as he did so.