Deep Storm (48 page)

Crane stopped speaking, and for a time the room fell into a profound silence. At last, McPherson roused himself. Thank you, Dr. Crane. He reached toward a control box that sat beside him, preparing to break the video connection.

Just a minute, Crane said.

McPherson glanced back at him.

Cant you tell me anything about the saboteurs? I mean, why would anybody do something like this?

McPherson gave him a weary smile. Im afraid there are many reasons somebody would do such a thing, Dr. Crane. But to answer your question, yes, I can tell you a little. You see, wed been tracing their lines of communication, just as Marris was planning to do. And just an hour ago, an arrest was made on Storm King.

Here? Crane said. On the oil rig?

Dr. Bishops contact. We dont know everything yet, but we know were dealing with a cadre of ideologues, fiercely opposed to American interests and dedicated to neutralizing our ability to protect ourselves. Their members are mostly recruited out of colleges and universities, much as Kim Philby, Guy Burgess, and the other Cambridge spies were recruited young people, impressionable and full of high ideals, who can easily be influenced and preyed upon. The group is very well financed, whether by a foreign government or private individuals were not yet sure. But well find out soon enough. Either way, they were committed to preventing us from taking possession of whatever technology was buried down there.

There was a brief pause. So what happens now? Crane asked.

Youll remain with us for a few days. You, Ms. Ping, some of the others. Once the processing and debriefing is complete, youll be free to go.

No. I mean, what will happen to the project? Deep Storm?

Dr. Crane, there is no more project. Deep Storm is gone. And with that, McPherson removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and terminated the feed.

Crane left the library and walked down the drab metal corridor beyond. He passed an office in which a small group of people sat together, speaking in low voices. In another office, a woman sat at a desk, her hands clasped together, head bowed in contemplation or prayer. Everybody seemed to be in shock. A technician walked by him, the mans gait slow, almost purposeless.

Reaching the end of the corridor, Crane pulled open the hatch. Outside, beyond the metal guardrail of the walkway, the blue-black sea ran away to infinity. He stepped out into the sea air and climbed several sets of steps to the top level of the superstructure. About a dozen of the Deep Storm survivors were clustered beside the helipad, waiting for the AmShale chopper to make its next trip back from Iceland. Standing apart from them, wearing handcuffs and leg irons and chained to a stanchion, stood a pale-skinned man with thick tortoiseshell glasses. He was flanked by two armed marines.

At the edge of the platform, away from the others, stood Hui Ping. She was staring out into the distance, watching the sun sink into the restless waves. Crane walked over to join her, and together they stood a moment in silence. Far below, in the slick of oil that lapped around the rigs support pillars, two Navy cutters prowled back and forth through a widening debris field, stopping now and then to retrieve an object.

Done? Hui said at last.

For now.

Whats next?

Were guests of the government for a couple of days. Then I guess we go home. Try to get on with our lives.

Hui pushed a stray hair back behind her ear. Ive been trying to make sense of it all. I think I understand why Dr. Bishop killed Asher when she heard he and Marris were tracing the saboteurs communications lines, she must have felt she had no choice. She couldnt allow herself to be stopped preemptively.

Thats how it seems to me. Asher told me he alerted all the department heads to be vigilant including her. That was his own death warrant.

But theres one thing I dont understand. Why were all still here.

Crane turned toward her. What do you mean?

The Facility was destroyed by a massive explosion. That means Korolis must have reached the anomaly. If we were right about whats down there, why do we still have an earth to stand on? She pointed at the sky. Why can I still see Venus on the horizon?

Ive been thinking about the same thing. The only explanation I can come up with is that it has to do with the active security measures we talked about.

So the explosion that destroyed the Facility was a protective mechanism of some kind.

Crane nodded. Exactly. To keep that repository from being tampered with. A dreadful explosion, to be sure, but a pinprick in comparison to what would have happened otherwise.

They fell silent. Hui continued gazing out toward the horizon. Its a beautiful sunset, she said at last. You know, for a while there, I never thought Id see another one. Even so She sighed, shook her head.

What?

I cant help feeling just a little disappointed. That well never see that technology again, I mean. Even the little bit we came in contact with was was wondrous. And now its gone from us forever.

Crane did not answer immediately. He turned back toward the railing, slipped his hand into his pocket. Oh, I wouldnt be too sure.

Now it was Huis turn to glance at him. Why not?

Slowly, he withdrew his hand. In his palm, winking in the orange light of the sunset, lay a plastic test tube with a red rubber stopper. And the thing that floated lazily within it was aglow with strange and enchanted promise.

EPILOGUE

Crane rinsed his razor under a stream of hot water, gave his face a cursory examination in the bathroom mirror, then stowed his toiletries away and stepped back into the bedroom. He dressed quickly in white shirt, brown tie, and tan chinos: civilian attire, or as near as the Navy could come to it. Plucking the oversize ID badge from a nearby bureau, he clipped it to the pocket of his shirt. He gave the room a last once-over, then dropped his toilet kit into the suitcase and lifted it from the bed. Like everything else, it had been issued to him by a Navy quartermaster, and it weighed next to nothing in his hand. Not surprising, he thought, since it contained next to nothing: hed taken nothing with him from Deep Storm except the sentinel, and even that hed handed over after a little soul-searching to McPherson.

McPherson. The man had called just a few minutes earlier, asking Crane to stop by before heading to Administration.

Crane hesitated a moment longer. Then, taking a final look around, he exited the room, walked down the dormitory corridor, and stepped out into the July sunshine.

Hed been at the George Stafford Naval Base, twenty miles south of Washington, for just three days. Yet already he felt familiar with the layout of the small, highly secure facility. Squinting in the bright light, he walked past the motor pool and the machine shop to the gray, hangarlike structure known simply as Building 17. He showed his ID to the armed marine stationed outside, but this was a mere formality: Crane had come and gone so frequently in the last few days everyone knew him by sight.

Inside, Building 17 was brilliantly lit. There were no internal walls, and the cavernous space had the hollow echo of a basketball court. At the center, in a cordoned-off area guarded by more marines, lay a vast riot of mangled metal: the remains of Deep Storm, or at least those portions safe to retrieve most remained on the sea floor, too radioactive to approach. It looked like some kind of giants nightmare jigsaw.

At first when it had been necessary for him to help with tagging and identification hed been overcome by a sense of horror. Now, the sight merely made him sad.

At the far end of Building 17, a series of cubicles had been assembled, tiny in the huge space. Crane walked across the concrete floor to the closest one, and though it was doorless rapped on its wall for formalitys sake.

Come, said a familiar voice. Crane stepped inside.

The cubicles furniture consisted of a desk, a conference table, and several chairs. Crane saw that Hui Ping was already seated at the table. He smiled, and she smiled back: a little shyly, he thought. Immediately, he began to feel better.

Since their arrival at Stafford, the two had spent most of their waking hours together: answering endless questions, reconstructing events, explaining what had happened and why to a succession of government scientists, military brass, and several mysterious men in dark suits. This time had only served to cement the bond that, in retrospect, had already begun to form on the Facility. While Crane didnt know exactly what the future held for him a research position, probably he felt confident that Hui Ping would enter into it in one way or another.

McPherson sat behind the desk, gazing at his computer screen. One end of the desk was piled with classified documentation, the other with graphs and bulky printouts. In the center sat a hollow cube of clear Plexiglas. Inside it, Cranes sentinel hovered.

Crane supposed McPherson must have a first name; that he must have a house in suburbia somewhere, perhaps even a family. But if McPherson did have a life beyond the naval base it seemed to have been put on permanent hold. Whenever Crane had been in Building 17, McPherson had been there as well, attending meetings, writing reports, or huddling in whispered consultation with naval scientists. As the days had passed, the man reserved and formal to begin with had grown more and more remote. Lately, hed taken to watching the video feed from the Marbles final descent again and again, the way someone might worry at a sore tooth. Crane noticed it playing on the monitor even now. He wondered, in passing, if the Facility had been McPhersons responsibility; if he might ultimately be held accountable in some way for the tragedy.

Mind if I sit down? he asked.

For a minute, McPherson remained glued to the grainy video feed. Then he pulled himself away. Please. He paused, glancing from Crane to Ping and back again. Youre all packed?

Hui nodded. It didnt take long.

Youll be processed at Administration. Once the exit interviews are completed, a car will take you to the airport. Then McPherson reached into his desk. Crane assumed that yet more forms requiring their signatures would be forthcoming. But instead the man drew out two small black leather cases and handed them formally across the desk. Theres just one more thing.

Crane watched as Hui opened hers. Her eyes went wide, and she caught her breath.

He turned to his own case. Inside was an official commendation, signed not only by half a dozen of the highest-ranking admirals in the Navy but also by the president himself.

Im not sure I understand, he said.

Whats there to understand, Dr. Crane? You and Dr. Ping determined the true nature of the anomaly. You kept your heads when others didnt. You helped save the lives of at the very least one hundred and twelve people. For that, this government will be eternally in your debt.

Crane closed the lid. This is what you wanted to see us about?

McPherson nodded. Yes. And to say good-bye. He stood up, shook their hands in turn. Theyre waiting for you in Administration. And he sat down, returning his gaze to the monitor.

Hui rose, headed for the cubicle exit. Then she turned to wait for Crane. He rose slowly, his gaze moving from McPherson to the monitor. He could just make out the image of Korolis, hunched over the Marbles viewscreen; Flyte working the robotic arm. McPherson had the volume low, but Crane could nevertheless make out the old mans birdlike voice: Its a weapons dump, the fruit of some intergalactic arms race

Let it go, Crane said quietly.

McPherson stirred, glanced over at him. Sorry?

I said, let it go. Its over.

McPherson returned his gaze to the monitor. He did not reply.

Its a tragedy, but its over now. Theres no need to worry about others accessing the site. No foreign government can approach the dig interface; its too heavily irradiated.

Still McPherson did not reply. He seemed to be struggling with some inner conflict.

I can guess whats eating at you, Crane said gently. Its the thought of a weapons dump like that, something capable of such extreme destruction, buried within our own planet. It bothers me, too. But I remind myself that whoever entombed those devices also has the power to protect them to make sure they are never tampered with. Korolis found that out the hard way: the video youre watching proves it.