Alien Storm (16 page)

“You could say that,” she replied.

“Then it's a shame you didn't keep a better eye on them, isn't it? There are plenty of unscrupulous people out there who would just love to get their hands on a bunch of kids with superhuman powers.” A smile flickered across his lips. “Some of them used to work for HIDRA, or so the papers say.”

Rachel ignored the reference to Major Bright. “So, you don't know anything about the children or the plane?”

“No,” Makarov sighed, as if the conversation was getting boring. “But I do have contacts in the aerospace industry. Why don't I ask around and get back to you in—”

“Three days?” Rachel interrupted, anticipating his words.

Makarov grinned. “You read my mind, Colonel. It was a pleasure to finally speak to you. I hope we get the chance to do so again.”

“Oh, you can be sure of it,” Rachel replied as she killed the video feed and looked across the table to where Lt. Kaminski sat at another computer. “Well?”

“The voice analyser shows a stress spike when you sent him the image of the plane,” the lieutenant replied, “but apart from that it didn't pick up any unusual patterns. He's a pretty cool customer, sir.”

“Too cool for someone who was just told he's suspected of kidnapping,” Rachel replied.

“Are you really going to send a scientific party as he suggested?” Kaminski asked.

“No. We have more important things to worry about right now. What's the news on the new meteor?”

“The current estimate is it's going to come down somewhere on the west coast of America, possibly in the Los Angeles area,” Kaminski said. “However, the Philippines station is reporting something strange about the meteor signal. Some kind of interference surrounding it, like there's a larger mass out there. They're running scans.”

“All we can do is get close to ground zero when it hits,” Rachel replied. She didn't want to think about the destruction that would be caused if the meteor did indeed strike in the middle of an urban area – it would be like detonating a nuke. “Keep me updated on any developments. Makarov can wait.”

Rachel knew that heading east was the right thing to do, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Makarov was connected to the disappearance of the children. And she was sure he knew about the new meteor somehow. Her stomach turned again and she closed her eyes with a groan.

“I'll get the bucket, sir,” Kaminski said and went running.

20

The next morning, Sarah sat on a couch positioned in front of the east-facing windows on the 150th floor. She had her knees drawn up to her chin and she was deep in thought, staring out over the empty expanse of snow. A couple of times through the morning haze she fancied she saw a flash of blue on the horizon – the sea – but perhaps it was just her imagination. Her mind was full of thoughts about what they had left behind in Australia: their father, Daniel…Rachel Andersen and HIDRA…Major Bright. The thought that Bright was most likely in custody was the only thing that brightened her mood.

So engrossed was she in these reflections that she didn't sense Alex approach from the lift until he was standing right behind her.

“Did you want something?” she asked, without looking round.

“Nestor and the others are going to the pool,” Alex replied. “We wondered if you wanted to join us.”

“No thanks.”

Alex gave an exaggerated sigh. “Just what is your problem? Are you so disappointed that Makarov turned out to be one of us?”

“That's yet to be seen,” Sarah answered sharply.

“Oh, you'd just love him to be the bad guy, wouldn't you? That's why you want to go sneaking around on the 90th floor, to try to find something incriminating.”

Sarah looked round at him for the first time. “You and the others might be prepared to accept Makarov's story at face value, but I'm not.”

“Will you listen to yourself?” Alex said firmly, moving round to block her view. “You're so desperate for a fight. No one says we have to stay here for ever, but at least the others haven't forgotten how to enjoy themselves.”

“I have to look after them,” Sarah snapped back, rising from her seat to challenge him. “They might have forgotten what happened at HIDRA, but I haven't. I'm—”

She stopped talking as the lift doors opened and the tall figure of Makarov stepped out, closely followed by Balthus. The red eyes of the robowolf scanned the room intently as it entered.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Makarov said, placing a slender hand on his heart. “Have I disturbed your privacy?”

“It's okay,” Sarah said, shooting a look at Alex. “We were just talking about you, in fact. Back in Melbourne you told Alex something about a war coming. And about a cure for the fall virus.”

Makarov nodded seriously as he approached them. Balthus hung back, but never got more than a few metres from its master.

“Well?” Sarah pressed.

Makarov smiled at her. “I do admire your directness, Sarah. Six months ago, a meteorite contaminated with the fall virus crashed several kilometres from the Spire. It was too small to cause any serious damage, but several of the workers at my mining operation in this area were infected. Luckily the Spire has advanced medical facilities and I ensured they received the best possible treatment.”

“They're still here?” Alex asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Makarov said. “Sent to a specialist hospital in Moscow, along with their families. I did, however, obtain several samples of infected blood before they were shipped out. I have been analysing these samples and am confident I am on the verge of a breakthrough.”

Sarah and Alex exchanged a glance. “You mean, you've almost found a cure?” she asked. “Why didn't HIDRA tell us about this?”

Makarov chuckled and shook his head as if the statement was ridiculous. “HIDRA! They're still stumbling around in the dark, I'm afraid. After some of the mistakes they've made, I'm surprised you trust them at all, Sarah. I don't know what Rachel Andersen has told you—”

“You know Rachel?” she interrupted, but Makarov ignored the question.

“—but she is nowhere near finding a cure. I, on the other hand, am only days away from producing a serum that will awaken all of the sleepers.”

Sarah looked at Makarov. The thought of bringing Daniel back, along with the parents of the others, made her heart leap. Suddenly, more than anything in the world, she wanted to believe in Nikolai Makarov, but something in her heart just wouldn't let her do it.

“We need to tell the world about this,” she asserted. “HIDRA has to know.”

Makarov's face darkened. “I will not hear of it until I am completely ready.” He forced a smile that was more like a grimace. “Just a few more days. Then we will give this gift to the world. It's not like we're in any rush, are we?”

Sarah shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Besides,” Makarov continued, “you still haven't seen all the surprises my home has to offer.”

“I call this the training zone,” Makarov announced as they stepped out of the lift onto the 117th floor of the tower later that day. It was part of his ongoing tour of the Spire and the entire group was assembled. “You all have unique abilities, but I'm sure each of you will find something here to test your powers.”

The room consisted of various cubicles and stand-alone rooms, marked with signs such as
Mind-reading Development
and
Psionics
. Wei ran over to a room marked
Fire Zone
and looked in through an observation window.

“Cool,” he whispered, casting a look over the assembled items within – boxes, sofas, stacks of hay. All eminently flammable. The walls were lined with heat-resistant padding.

Makarov walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Everything to keep a young fire-starter amused for hours.”

“Can I—” Wei began, but was interrupted by a
slam
from the far side of the room. As the group looked round, the sound came again. And again.
Slam. Slam. Slam
. A thirteen-year-old boy approached across the floor, bouncing a basketball expertly in his right hand. He was dressed in the uniform of one of the tower servants and had a thin, angular face framed by jet black hair swept back in a ponytail.

“Ah, Ilya,” Makarov said. “Ilya is the only child from the Chukotkan meteorite strike to develop special abilities.”

Sarah shot him a look. “You're keeping him here? What about his family?”

Makarov waved his hand dismissively. “Victims of the virus. I've been made Ilya's guardian. I see so much of myself in him.”

“Why didn't you tell us about him before?” Sarah said.

“Oh, so much to tell, so little time,” Makarov answered. He stopped speaking as Ilya broke into a run towards them, ponytail flying. The boy threw the basketball with both hands. It arced through the air, dropped cleanly through a hoop set into the wall high above their heads and bounced back into the boy's hands. With that, he turned and walked casually over to where they were standing. His blank expression did not change one iota as he looked over the newcomers.

“Say hello to our guests, Ilya,” Makarov ordered.

“Hello, guests.” His voice was flat. The uniform wasn't the only thing he shared with the tower workers – the emotionless demeanour reminded Sarah of the women.

“What's his special power?” Octavio asked, looking over the kid's ponytail with a sneer. “Hair styling?”

Ilya narrowed his eyes at the other boy and held up the spinning basketball on a single finger, showing some life for the first time.

“Now, now, there's no need for that,” Makarov warned the boy gently, placing a hand on his head. “Octavio has telekinetic powers like you – he can move things with his mind alone. Why don't you show him what you can do, Ilya?”

The Russian kid turned his blank eyes from Makarov to Octavio and smiled for the first time. “Let's try some target practice. If you think you can handle a little competition.”

“Do your worst,” Octavio hissed in reply as the pale-skinned kid led the way to a rectangular building in the far corner of the floor.

“We can watch from above,” Makarov announced as Octavio and Ilya entered through a set of sliding double doors. He took a set of steps up the side and the others followed. At the top they found a clear roof, designed for observation of the area below, which looked like an indoor tennis court. A rectangular playing area was marked out on the floor and divided into two halves, coloured red and blue. A yellow line divided the two sections from one another. Around the area, metal barriers about a metre in height stuck out of the floor, slanted at forty-five degree angles. The sides of these barriers bore impact marks, as if objects had been thrown against them repeatedly.

Sarah leaned over the railing and looked down as the two boys entered the court and took places at either end of the room – Ilya in the blue zone, Octavio in the red.

“What is this?” she asked Makarov.

“A testing ground for psionics like Ilya and Octavio,” Makarov replied. “A kind of target practice game.”

“You built all this for Ilya?” Sarah asked, looking around the other training areas.

Makarov shook his head. “Of course not. I always knew there would be more people like me in the future, such as you and your friends. I guess you could say this is the very first school on earth for people such as ourselves.” He touched the communicator on his shoulder. “Computer, give us fifty discs. Random dispersal.”

In the room below, Ilya bounced from one foot to another and rubbed his hands together as if in anticipation of action, although his blank eyes showed little sign of excitement. Octavio looked up at the others from his group and shrugged. In the centre of the room a black cylinder rose out of the floor and began to spin rapidly, emitting a whirring noise.

Makarov raised his hand and called out, “Computer, release on my mark!”

As he lowered his hand, a clay disc the size of a plate flew out of a slot in the spinning cylinder at high speed. It shot across the court towards Ilya. The Russian boy was expecting the projectile, however, and threw out his hand. The disc stopped and hung suspended in the air about a metre from his head, completely under the control of the boy's mind. On the other side of the court, Octavio watched in fascination as Ilya drew back his arm and punched his fist forward in a violent motion. Although no physical contact was made with the disc, it flew across the court at high speed towards Octavio.

“Watch out!” Nestor yelled as the missile hurtled towards his brother.

At the last possible moment, Octavio raised his hands and projected a shield. As the disc hit the invisible barrier, it exploded in a puff of white clay. Octavio staggered back as shards from the disc flew around him. On the viewing platform, Makarov clapped his hands together and gave a childish laugh of excitement.

“Excellent start!” he exclaimed as a second disc was spat from the cylinder in a random direction across the court. This time it headed straight for the wall, but Ilya pointed a finger at the missile and swept his arm towards his still-stunned opponent. The disc whipped round at frightening speed and Octavio had no choice but to throw himself behind one of the metal shields dotted around the court. As the disc smashed against the barrier, a mighty clang echoed around the area.

Another disc ejected the cylinder and Ilya sent it flying against the shield even faster and harder, followed by another and another. Trapped, Octavio ducked and covered his ears against the clanging of the discs against the metal.

Makarov shook his head sadly. “This isn't much sport for Ilya, I'm afraid.” He touched the communicator again. “Computer, increase the disc firing rate to medium.”

Immediately the discs began to fly from the cylinder at the rate of one every four seconds. Each disc was mentally snatched from the air by Ilya and sent flying towards Octavio's hiding place. Behind the barrier, the Colombian boy was beginning to resemble a plaster statue, so thoroughly covered was he with clay powder from the exploded discs. He looked up desperately at the others, watching from above.