The Storm

Even in the scale model, the breach was quickly being scoured and enlarged. Soon the gap was two inches in diameter and then four. Moments later a section of the top dropped in, taking the miniature road and cars along with it. The water from the high side of the tank flowed through the gap, pouring over the far side like a waterfall. But it was the lower tunnel through the dam that made things interesting.

  As the water surged over the top, it reached a point of equilibrium, scouring downward far less rapidly where the waterproof clay core resisted the erosion.

  “The dam is not falling,” Mustafa pointed out.

  “Watch the lower tunnel,” Jinn insisted.

  The lower tunnel finally made it through to the far side, and in minutes the higher-pressure water from the deeper part of the tank had widened the lower tunnel from a pinprick to a few inches in diameter.

  Water blasted out the far side in a fine spray. After another minute, the core collapsed in the center, creating a deep V-shaped groove as the material above it caved in.

  A huge wave surged through and crashed into the narrow channel that represented the Nile. It flooded the miniature embankments, sweeping away dirt, sand and small boxes that represented structures.

  The test was successful, the dam was breached, the Nile was flooded. Mustafa and Alhrama stared in shock at the devastation.

  Jinn smiled to himself and took a step back. It was the perfect moment. Sabah held the door behind him.

  Mustafa turned and looked at them, grinning and expectant. He nodded to Sabah. The look on his face reminded Jinn of a thief with stolen treasures in hand. When Sabah took no action, the look changed, first to confusion, then to anger and fear. He must have now realized that Sabah would not kill his master.

  The thief with the stolen goods had been caught and his face showed it. He reached for a weapon, but Sabah pulled Jinn aside and slammed the door.

  In a blink, the hatch was locked tight. And the hammering of gunfire up against it did nothing but ring in their ears.

  Mustafa began shouting from behind the door. “What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?”

  From outside the room Jinn pressed an intercom switch. “The meaning is simple. You tried to turn my servant against me and he has passed the test. Now you will suffer the consequences.”

  The sound of fists banging followed and then several more shots rang out, and Jinn was in wonder that the ricochets didn’t kill either Mustafa or Alhrama.

  Alhrama began shouting. “Jinn, be reasonable! I have nothing to do with this.”

  Jinn ignored them. He brought the radio up to his mouth once again. “Begin the frenzy.”

  Up in the control room the operator punched another button, and the yellow drum was tilted farther, dumping more of the metallic sand into the pool. The murky gray color returned and deepened, and the water changed complexion once again. From outside the tank where Jinn and Sabah stood, it seemed as if the water had begun to boil.

  Inside the viewing chamber, the effect was enhanced. Mustafa stared at the acrylic wall. A dark, viscous shape, thick like octopus ink, surged forward. It flowed onto the clear surface and spread across it like some kind of film.

  Mustafa froze. Alhrama pushed past him and yanked on the locked door handle. “Let me out!” he shouted. “It was Mustafa. I was not part of this!”

  A strange scratching sound began to resonate, and the film darkened and thickened in a pattern that Mustafa recognized as fissures. The fissures spread across the acrylic in a branching pattern, growing deeper in two small areas.

  The etching noise grew louder and sharper, almost like fingers on a chalkboard. The noise seemed to penetrate Mustafa’s brain. He could see the acrylic vibrating, the water shuddering around it.

  The clear wall creaked ominously. Behind him Alhrama continued to yank on the door handle and plead with Jinn to let him free. Mustafa began to shake and fell to his knees.

  “No!” he shouted. “No!”

  The acrylic wall fractured. It caved in, and water flooded the bay. Mustafa tried to swim through it, but the swarm of silver sand enveloped him, soaking into his clothes, burrowing into his skin, and dragging him down to the bottom of the tank like a fifty-pound anvil.

  For a minute he struggled like a speared fish, jerking in spasms, but very quickly he was still, and shortly afterward his blood began to stain the water red. Behind him, drowning in the bay, Alhrama fared no better.

  CHAPTER 23

  KURT STARED AT THE CARNAGE IN THE TEST ROOM. “SUDdenly, I wish we’d left when you suggested it,” he said to Joe.

  From inside the locker room he and Joe had watched the whole thing, and with the water turning crimson, it seemed they’d outstayed their welcome.

  They shed their hazmat suits, moved to the rear door, left the locker room via the stairs.

  “Hope you left a trail of bread crumbs,” Joe said.

  “Just keep moving upward and away from here,” Kurt replied.

  They reached the main hall, overlooking the tank room, but neither of them looked back. Halfway down the hall, the sound of gunfire broke out. The first wave sounded deliberate and calm, but then it became sporadic and peppered with shouting. What sounded like return fire was mixed in.

  “The mess hall,” Kurt said. “Those other guys we saw must have been working for the two guys who just became microbot food.”

  The gunfire continued, growing more intense. “Sounds like a major battle,” Joe said. “Maybe they didn’t all get taken by surprise.”

  “Too bad for us,” Kurt said. “Unless we want to join up with the blue team, we need to lay low for a bit.”

  Kurt found a door, cracked it open, and looked inside. He saw computers, printers and drafting tables. None of them occupied.

  “In here,” he whispered.

  They ducked inside. Kurt spun and closed the door. He pressed himself to the wall and found he could see part of the hallway through a narrow crack between the doorjamb and the edge of the door itself.

  “See if there’s a back way out,” he said, “or a closet or somewhere else to hide in if we need to.”

  Joe began to look around, and Kurt squinted through the narrow fissure. Whatever plan had been arranged to deal with the outsiders seemed to be falling apart. Some of Jinn’s men ran down the hall, wounded. Moments later reinforcements charged up it, and the noise of the battle grew louder, including explosions from stun grenades.

  “Nowhere to hide back here,” Joe said. “No back door either.”

  Kurt kept his eye on the gap. “Just our luck to show up in time for the family feud.”

  “A minute earlier, and we’d have been caught in the fight,” Joe countered.

  “But two minutes earlier, and we’d have been through the battle zone and on our way up to the roof, with them fighting behind us to give us cover.”

  “You have a point,” Joe said.

  Kurt wedged his foot against the base of the door, widening the gap just a bit and allowing him to see more of the hall. The sound of footsteps reached him well before he could see who or what was approaching.

  “Company coming,” he whispered.

  Joe held still.

  A group passed by, two guards prodding a young woman along. Her face showed fear, but more of something else. Kurt settled on acceptance or resignation.

  She passed by in a blink, but a strange feeling rushed over Kurt as he considered her appearance. She was short, with dark spiky hair, a tan complexion and sad eyes. She looked like a prisoner, and, what’s more, she looked like …

  Kurt leaned back against the wall. “We have a problem,” he announced.

  “You mean beyond being trapped in a maze in the middle of the desert surrounded by ruthless thugs?”

  “Yeah,” Kurt said, “beyond that. You’ve met Kimo, right?”

  “A couple of times,” Joe said. “Why?”

  “Describe him for me.”

  “Great guy,” Joe said. “Built like a running back. Stocky, broad-s
houldered. He was only about five foot seven, but he was strong as an ox and probably one hundred and eighty pounds.”

  “Now, describe his sister.”

  “Sad and a little unstable, but with good reason.”

  “This isn’t the time get deep on me,” Kurt prodded. “What does she look like?”

  “Beautiful,” Joe said. “High cheekbones, fine features, long tan legs.”

  “Right,” Kurt said. “Tall and thin, with long limbs and fine silky hair.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I just saw a woman in the hall who looked a lot more like Kimo than the woman we left back on Aqua-Terra.”

  “You’ve really got to be kidding me. Was she a prisoner?”

  “Looked that way.”

  “You don’t think …”

  “I do.”

  Joe grasped the seriousness of the situation instantly. “So if Leilani is here, then who’s back there on Marchetti’s island?”

  “I’m not sure,” Kurt said. “But considering how quick she pulled the gun on Marchetti and then somehow found a way to make up with him afterward, I’m guessing she’s a professional.”

  “You called her a hit squad,” Joe reminded him.

  “I was joking, but she didn’t bat an eye.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Joe said. He took a deep breath. “Paul, Gamay and Marchetti are in danger.”

  Kurt nodded. “We have to warn them. Whoever she is, she has to be working for Jinn.”

  Before Joe could add anything the door burst open, kicked in by a heavy boot. Men carrying Uzis piled through the gap, swarming over them before they could respond. They were knocked to the ground, subdued and disarmed without a fight.

  Two men searched them while others held them down.

  “Jabberwocky,” Joe grunted.

  “Thanks,” Kurt grunted back sarcastically, the weight of three men holding him down, “I didn’t realize.”

  When they’d been relieved of all the tools and weapons, they were lifted to their feet and held in place as another figure entered the room: Jinn al-Khalif, with a rifle in his hand.

  He strode up to Kurt. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

  “No doubt your spy told you we were coming.”

  Jinn smiled like a jackal. “Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.”

  With that, he slammed the butt of his rifle into Kurt’s gut, knocking the wind out of him and dropping him back to the floor.

  “Her name is Zarrina. She sends her regards.”

  CHAPTER 24

  BACK ON BOARD THE FLOATING ISLAND OF AQUA-TERRA, Paul and Gamay had spent most of the day with Marchetti, studying the sample of “wild” microbots they’d captured.

  A makeshift lab had been set up to replace the flooded forward compartment. Marchetti’s computers, a small radio transmitter, and other equipment now lay scattered about the room.

  Without the electron microscope, they couldn’t see the individual microbots, but under a pair of medical-grade optical scopes Paul and Gamay were studying two separate samples that had grouped together in little clusters almost like algae or bacteria.

  Marchetti sat at his computer console, tapping away. Leilani sat nearby, fidgeting nervously. After spending the morning calling up the original design specs, they’d begun testing and attempting to signal the bots with the standard commands Marchetti had programmed into the prototypes years before.

  “They’re not doing anything,” Paul said for the tenth time.

  “Are you sure?” Marchetti said, still transmitting command protocols. “I mean they’re awfully small, maybe you’re missing something.”

  “We’re looking at them through the microscopes,” Paul said, “and they’re just sitting there. Like lazy relatives after a Thanksgiving feast.”

  Gamay shot him a look. “You’re not talking about my relatives, are you?”

  “Just Cousin Willie, for the most part.”

  She appeared hurt for an instant and then shrugged. “You’re right, he flops on that couch Thursday afternoon and doesn’t get up until Sunday.”

  Marchetti coughed loudly to get their attention. “Assuming the microbots haven’t been taken over by the spirit of Cousin Willie, I can only conclude that Otero has changed the command codes.”

  “So how’s this going to help us, then?” Leilani asked.

  Before Marchetti could reply Gamay asked a more practical question. “Is there any way we can extract the codes from the bots themselves? Maybe reverse engineer them and read their programming?”

  Marchetti shook his head. “Not with the equipment I have here.”

  “What about extracting it from Otero himself?” Leilani added. “Or from his friend? We have them down there in those cells. Let’s grab the keys and go talk to them. And by talk, I mean force them to talk.”

  Gamay glanced at Paul. They were worried about Leilani. As the days wore on, she seemed only to grow angrier and more frustrated, especially since the incident on the airship.

  “I’m pretty firmly in the anti-coercion camp,” Marchetti said.

  “He tried to kill you,” Leilani said.

  “Good point,” Marchetti noted. “Let’s go beat it out of him. I’ll see if I can find a rubber hose or something.”

  “That was a quick turnabout,” Gamay said.

  “I’m a flip-flopper,” Marchetti replied, “what can I tell you?”

  “Maybe there’s another way?”

  “Like what?”

  “If the bots in open ocean are being given directives, shouldn’t we be able to intercept those signals?”

  “Theoretically,” Marchetti said. “But we’d have to move closer to them.”

  “Closer?” Leilani said.

  That didn’t sound great to Paul either. “How close would we have to go?”

  “Depends on the type of transmission,” Marchetti said. “It could be a low-frequency signal or a shortwave burst. Those would cover a wide area and could be sent from almost anywhere. It could be a high-frequency or line-of-sight transmission from an aircraft, ship or satellite. It’s even possible that the signal is sent to one part of the floating swarm and then they transmit it to one another like a game of telephone. In which case we’d have to be in the right place at the right time even to pick it up.”

  “It sounds easier to force the information out of Otero,” Leilani said.

  “All things being equal, the simplest solution is usually the best,” Paul said. “What type of transmission would you use?”

  Marchetti paused for a moment. “Short-range coded broadcast,” he said eventually. “High-frequency.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll look for.”

  “It will likely be an extremely short broadcast,” Marchetti warned. “On the order of milliseconds. Perhaps repeating at intervals, but very fleeting. Without knowing what we’re looking for, it might be impossible to pick it out from the background noise of the atmosphere. Static, other radio transmissions, ionization, all those things could be a problem.”

  “You’re a wet blanket,” Paul said, feeling as if every solution came with its own roadblock.

  “We don’t have to pick it out,” Gamay said, “we have something here that will do it for us.” She waved a hand over the samples. “All we have to do is record the chatter, watch for the little bots to wake up and then dissect the transmission after the fact.”

  Marchetti appeared impressed. “That should work,” he said. “That should work perfectly. I’ll direct the island toward the edge of the swarm. Based on the last plotted location, we should reach it in thirty-six hours.”

  CHAPTER 25

  KURT AND JOE HAD BEEN IN CAPTIVITY FOR SEVERAL HOURS. No food, no water, no light and no company. They hadn’t been beaten or interrogated or threatened, just left in the dark in a small room, chained to the same heavy pipes they’d followed on their journey to the test tank.

  Joe’s voice came out of the dark in a raspy tone. “Can’t say much
for the accommodations.”

  Kurt’s own throat was getting dry. He’d done what he could to keep his mouth shut and breathe only through his nose. “Didn’t we call for turndown service an hour ago?”

  “I believe we did,” Joe said. “I wonder if the delay has something to do with the firefight?”

  “It didn’t sound like that went into overtime, but they might have a big mess to clean up or others to deal with. More likely, they don’t need to question us if this Zarrina is still reporting.”

  “One thing I don’t get,” Joe said. “Why’d they attack her at the dock if she was on their side?”

  Kurt thought about that. “Any number of reasons. Maybe she’s under deep cover, and the thugs didn’t know. Maybe it was a diversion. One thing for certain, it made us want to protect her. Took away any sense of suspicion. The best con jobs never come from the con artist, always from the mark. We saw what we wanted to see: a friend in need. We were already in a defensive mode because Kimo and the others were gone. After rescuing her, our natural instinct to circle the wagons took over.”

  “It didn’t hurt that she had Leilani’s passport and e-mails. Or that she knew Leilani had been calling NUMA for updates on her brother.”

  “I’m guessing they got those from the real Leilani,” Kurt said.

  “They must have grabbed her and replaced her the moment she hit Malé.”

  Joe was undoubtedly right, which made it all the more imperative that they escape. “We have to figure out a way to get free,” Kurt said. “I’ve run my hands all along this pipe. I can’t find a weak spot.”

  “Nothing over here either. I tried rocking it loose, but it’s bolted into the stone, I can’t get any play in it.”

  As Joe finished speaking, the door to their cell opened. The overhead lights snapped on, blinding Kurt and Joe for a second.

  In walked Jinn and the bearded man, Sabah, who always seemed to be with him. Several armed guards accompanied them.

  “I don’t see any towels or mints in their hands,” Joe said.

  “Silence!” Sabah shouted.

  Jinn raised a hand as if to say it was all right.