Spiral (57 page)

‘This is it.’

‘Good luck, brother.’

‘If I don’t come back... tell Nicky I love her.’

Slater guffawed. ‘Such sentimentality from the King of Porn?’

‘A favour - for me.’

‘Anything, brother,’ said Slater, smiling kindly.

‘Five minutes; then get the fuck out.’

‘Five minutes,’ said Slater. He replaced his goggles and hoisted the heavy machine gun, glancing up at the warfare raging above; at the flaming skies; at the turmoil of bullets and bombs and spinning rotors. Machine guns roared; so many guns that it seemed the whole world was at war -and on fire. Orange streaked across the grey of storm clouds.

‘Good luck, brother.’

‘Luck’s got fuck all to do with it,’ said Jam, grinning. Hoisting the wide black suitcase in his arms, he dropped backwards over the edge of the tiny boat and was instantly swallowed by the churning black abyss.

Slater sat for a few moments, staring down at the few bubbles that reached the rolling sea surface; then he concentrated on keeping the little boat stable in its umbilical link with the cruiser. He was so close that he could see rivets; he was so close that he could reach out and touch the cold black metal.

Slater nodded to himself.

Justice had to be served - like a plateful of napalm spaghetti, with nuclear dessert.

The Comanche banked low and hard, sweeping around past massive black gun turrets, so close that Carter could see the ship’s railings and the windows of cabins. The Comanche banked, past more huge turrets that rocked with recoil and belched fire and shells. The cruiser flashed past in an insane blur, the Comanche screaming its own scream above the crash of the pounding Arctic sea. Carter dragged the machine, engines howling, around and brought it down to land on the deck with a swordlike
clash
of metal upon metal. The rotors howled as they wound down.

‘It’s a trap,’
said Kade calmly.

‘Like I give a fuck,’ snapped Carter.

He lifted the cockpit canopy and wind and rain lashed in, stinging his skin. He stood, climbed up onto the rim, then lowered himself and dropped to the deck. His boots made dull thumps and he could feel ice, a slick layer beneath him. ‘You’ve been a good girl,’ he said, patting the Comanche’s flank. The wind snatched his words in a shriek of laughter and twirled them away in a spiral of down draughts as helicopters banked and swept above him, machine guns roaring. A missile shot skywards and a helicopter was sent tumbling, a flaming ball of melting steel, into the freezing ocean.

Carter turned; focused; orientated himself. His stare roved the dark surroundings lit sporadically by fire from the sky and he could see nobody as he palmed his battered trusty old Browning - a small reassurance, but at least it gave him the ability to deal hot metal death to anybody who came near.

Natasha.

Where would she be?

With Feuchter.

‘That fucker,’ growled Carter. He moved quickly forward across the ice-slippery alloy deck, gaze lifting, scanning the bridges and gantries, the portholes and windows. This felt crazy, totally crazy and Carter felt the burden of his life lift from his shoulders because it did not matter any more, truly nothing mattered and if he was to die then—

So be it.

Carter sprinted towards the nearest doorway. But then everything happened at once - there was a concussive
boom
and a helicopter went hurtling past, low, rotors howling dangerously, and Carter whirled, crouching, bringing the Browning up to see—

‘Nothing,’
whispered Kade.

Behind him, Feuchter slid from the shadows, from the darkness, like a ghost or a demon emerging from another plane of existence. He held a small black gun and his expression was almost serene.

Carter turned and Feuchter nodded slowly. He smiled, showing tombstone teeth. ‘Mr Carter, we are expecting you.’ Carter fixed his glittering gaze on the muzzle of the gun that pointed straight at his heart...

He tried hard to disguise his shock at seeing Feuchter.

‘I left you dead.’

‘No. You left me
dying.
There is a subtle difference. Gods, the pain I have suffered at your hands, Mr Carter -it will be a pleasure to see you finally shuffle like a reptile from this mortal coil. Now, your gun, please?’

‘What makes you think I’ll give you it?’

An explosion rocked the ship. Feuchter did not waver, but nodded to something behind Carter. He turned. Behind him stood three Nex, copper eyes glowing, bodies black-clad, all bearing pistols and slung sub-machine guns. They had spread out in silence, and to his shame he had not heard them. These killers were subtly different to the other Nex he had met; they seemed larger, broader, more athletic.

‘Previously, you met my scout caste, the 5Nex’ said Feuchter. ‘These Nex - they are different. These - well, they are the warrior caste.’

Carter licked his lips. He smiled broadly.

‘Is Natasha here?’

‘She is. She requests the pleasure of your company; she would weep and wail in your arms and seek one final kiss before you both die. Come this way, Mr Carter. Let me show you the Heaven we are building ...’

‘Heaven?’

‘It will be a paradise of modern technology,’ said Feuchter softly. He gestured with his gun, and Carter allowed the Browning to be taken from him. ‘This way.’

‘You soft fucking bitch pussy,’
hissed Kade.

Carter stepped forward.

Towards the black door.

And the gaping maw of uncertainty beyond.

Feuchter led Carter through dim black corridors, metal floors and metal grilles beneath their boots. Light came from below and now that he was out of the wind and rain and ice, Carter could hear the deep distant drone of the cruiser’s massive engines.

Feuchter walked ahead of him, his back a broad target. And yet, Carter could see something: a difference. The back of Feuchter’s neck and head - it was scar tissue. Severe scar tissue, wrinkled and bright pink; his hair was re-growing but the new growth was not complete - and it was black and crinkled.
Different.
Abnormal ...

Carter shivered. What the fuck is going on? he thought.

He glanced behind him; the Nex were there, guns trained on his back.

Carter followed Feuchter.

There was little else that he could do.

They descended; steep spiral metal staircases led down. The metal was cold beneath Carter’s fingers and he felt his mind blurring; he could feel Kade squatting there, watching, observing, offering nothing.

Good, thought Carter at Kade.

Keep your fucking nose out of this.

This is my fight and I will do it alone.

They reached wider corridors and there was more bustle; Nex with gaunt haunted faces rushed about, and without their masks Carter could observe their strange asexual faces. Similar, and yet each one individual, each one different.

‘Feuchter, what the fuck are the Nex?’ he asked softly.

‘Quiet.’

‘Or what? You’ll kill me?’ Carter laughed, a bitter sharp bark. Carter looked Feuchter up, then down. His smile was sickly sweet. ‘Come on, Feuchter, answer my question.’

Feuchter halted. He turned. His gaze was burning.

‘They are human, Carter, just like you and me. But they are killers, incredibly efficient killers. I thought you were friends with Gol? And you mean to tell me that he never explained the phenomenon that is the Nex?’ Feuchter sneered. ‘We - Gol, Durell and myself - worked on them, or rather, took over work on the project named Nx5, nicknamed Necros - or Nex. They were pioneered in the 1950s by our predecessors when America and Russia were playing their Cold War games and developing nuclear weapons and intercontinental missiles to deliver their new, gleaming warheads. We then took up the research in the late 90s. Oh yes, we discovered many things back then; many things Spiral would have preferred us to keep hidden. They withdrew our funding for the Nex Project; our specimens were killed and we had to move on to other
more moral
areas.’

Feuchter turned and continued to walk. Carter followed.

‘Durell and Gol - the horrors they created!’ Feuchter chuckled, and the sound was cold; chilling; nightmare turned real.

Moving down busy metal corridors now, Carter felt the hairs crackling on the back of his neck. He kept glimpsing the faces of the Nex. There was something wrong with these people, these assassins who had hunted him for so long, these killers who had nearly wiped out the Spiral DemolSquads... but he could not put his finger on it.

Feuchter halted.

A door slid open and he ushered Carter through and onto a massive control deck. Computers lined the walls, their status lights glittering insanely. Display monitors were set up on benches, showing naval and air operations globally. And there, against the far wall, seated beside a small black terminal, was Natasha—

‘Nats!’

‘Carter!’ She leaped to her feet, sprinted towards him and they fell into one another’s arms. Carter kissed her passionately, then pulled away and stared down into her tear-filled eyes.

‘They captured me,’ she sobbed. ‘I didn’t betray you, Carter, I promise ... they said I was their insurance policy, that you would do what they want as long as they could kill me ...’

‘Yes, yes,’ snapped Feuchter. He strolled over to the small black terminal and placed the Browning on an alloy bench. He flicked a switch; there was a spiralling of metal plates, which spun out from the top of the terminal to reveal a small black cube. ‘Behold,’ said Feuchter. ‘The QIII. Are you impressed, Mr Carter?’

‘Is that it?’

‘That’s it. But what it lacks in aesthetics, believe me, it makes up for in ability. Thank your saviour, Mr Carter.’

‘My ...
saviour
?’

‘Ask yourself this question - why did we take Natasha? Why didn’t I just shoot you up there on the deck? You think I give a fuck about answering your questions? You think I care about sparing your life for a few moments more? No ... But the QIII’s puzzled by you, Mr Carter. It can predict anything,
anything
- except your actions... and that worries the QIII, and it worries
us.
It thinks that there’s something strange about you, Mr Carter, something dark
inside
you that makes you uniquely dangerous. And it’s going to tear that secret from you - even if it fucks with your soul, even if it eventually kills you.’

Feuchter smiled, and it was not a nice smile. ‘I, however, am sceptical; I want you dead. But
Durell
has other plans ..

Feuchter turned and ran a finger across the cold cubic processor.

It hummed softly.

‘What’s it afraid of?’ said Carter softly. ‘That I’ll shoot you in the fucking face again?’

Feuchter turned; a fluid whirl. He smiled at Carter. ‘Let me warn you, it is Durell who wishes you alive, and the QIII itself: not I. Do not antagonise me or you may push me beyond my boundaries. Now, this QIII is fully functional, as you witnessed when your sorry little group flew in to meet their makers - soon, you will see the full extent of our plans.’

‘What, to take over the world?’ sneered Carter.

Feuchter laughed then. ‘You are so naive, Carter. So very, very simple. In your world everything is in black and white; not so in mine. Spiral had their power, had their fucking time. They abused it. Look at the way things are ... it disgusts me. They have ultimate power and yet evil dominates, evil men walk the world with guns and bombs of HighJ fire. It is fucked up beyond belief, Carter. Spiral: once I thought they were strong - but no, Spiral are weak, Carter - they grew fat and weak on the spoils of war. Now it is time for change ... it is time for the strong to rule with an iron fist, and rule we will. We will turn the tables. We will annihilate evil. We will make the world a better place and make God proud of humanity.’

He stepped away from the QIII.

A white globe spun into the air; colours rippled across its surface, painting the simulated Earth with laser light. Around it spun satellites, and as the sphere expanded and rotated Carter could see activity within it: fleets of warships, squadrons of aircraft, battalions of tanks moving across this QIII globe of laser light.

The door opened. A huge, athletic Nex warrior entered, followed by a shuffling figure in heavy dark robes, its face hidden, its shoulders hunched as if in pain. The Nex nodded to Feuchter, who smiled once again. It was with unease that Carter noted the copper-eyed stare fixed on him.

‘This is Krael,’ said Feuchter softly. He turned and looked hard at Carter. ‘You met his mate in Africa; I believe you destroyed her face with your bullets. Krael has asked me for a personal favour: he wishes to dance with you, Carter, he wishes to show you what pain is. The QIII wants you alive - I merely want you to suffer.’

Carter’s gaze moved from the huge Nex to the shuffling figure; it had moved to the globe, and a cracked blackened hand came out, reached towards the digital hologram and was bathed, sparkling, by the ghostly witch-light.

The figure chuckled, a deep melodious sound.

‘So we meet, Mr Carter.’