Anvil (19 page)

Lucas Martin
stood waiting for the first of two security doors to open.  It was heavy
steel with a small window set at head height.  As a loud buzzer sounded,
it slid open and he stepped through, another identical door impeding his
progress.  Buzzer still assaulting his ears, the door behind him closed
with a hard thump.

To Lucas’
right was a large, wire reinforced window.  On the other side a man
wearing an Australian RAAF uniform watched him, hands resting on the controls
for the sally port.  He nodded at Lucas and a uniquely different sounding
buzzer went off as the second door went into motion.

Foul air
immediately flowed through the opening and made Lucas crinkle his nose. 
Sour sweat, fear, anger, despair and the sharp tang of human urine all mixed
together to create the nauseating odor of a prison.  Ignoring it, he
walked through into a long, well lit hallway.  Behind him the second door
closed with an ominous thud.

Lucas was
entering a prison that didn’t have a name and didn’t officially exist. 
Known only as “the cottage”, it was located deep in the Western Australia
desert and was built completely underground.  There were no roads and
nothing above the surface other than what appeared to be a dilapidated house on
an abandoned sheep station. 

Numerous air
and ground defensive weapons were well concealed in the surrounding
terrain.  They would engage any vehicle or aircraft that came too close to
the entrance, unless it had been pre-authorized.  Lucas had arrived in a
RAAF helicopter that carried the correct transponder codes to allow it to
approach and land.  It was painted to match a popular helicopter tour
company that operated out of Perth, and was just part of the landscape to the
locals.

After
getting off the phone with John, Lucas had started making calls.  His CO
was the first, and his request had gone up the food chain from there. 
Only his badgering, by seeking the help of fellow NCOs who could put a bug in
their CO’s ears, had gotten him permission.  And he had received it in
record time.  He owed his life to his American friend and wasn’t going to
fail when that man asked for his help.

Walking down
the hall, he passed a number of high security doors that lined each side. 
They were offset from each other so when one was open, the occupant could only
see a blank wall on the opposite side of the corridor.  These were maximum
security cells that housed some of the most dangerous people Australia had encountered.

None of the
doors were labeled other than by a simple, two-digit number painted in black on
the smooth, battleship grey surface.  Somewhere in the prison were a
couple of men Lucas had been involved in capturing, but he didn’t care about
them and wasn’t here to renew old acquaintances.  He was here to see the
turncoat American CIA officer, Steve Johnson.

At the far
end of the hall another man in a RAAF uniform waited for him.  Lucas
walked up and held out his ID badge.  The man held it over a tablet
computer, waiting as the RFID chip in the badge was interrogated.  A beep
sounded from the tablet and the man peered at it briefly before handing Lucas
his ID and tapping a series of commands on the screen.  A door to his rear
buzzed and began trundling open.  The man stepped aside and gestured for
Lucas to enter. 

The room was
small, cramped, and very stark.  The floor, walls and ceiling were painted
bright white.  Harsh light from an overhead bank of recessed fluorescent
tubes reflected off every surface, making Lucas squint when he stepped through
the door.  A surveillance camera was mounted in each corner of the room at
ceiling height, recording everything that was said and done from four different
angles.

The heavy
door closed behind Lucas with a solid boom and he took one step forward and sat
in an un-upholstered metal chair.  The seat and back were hard and cold,
but he didn’t notice.  Opposite him, across a small metal table that was
bolted to the floor, sat Steve. 

He was
dressed in a fluorescent orange jump suit and wore shackles at his wrists and
ankles which were connected to a length of chain that encircled his waist. 
The short length of chain that connected his wrists was locked to a stout metal
ring bolted to the seat of his chair.

Steve looked
like hell.  His face was slack.  Black circles darkened the skin
around his eyes, which were dull.  Defeated.  Lifeless.  His
hair was buzzed close to his scalp and he was clean shaven and bathed, but
Lucas knew that was only due to the strict hygiene rules enforced by the
guards. 

“Who are
you?”  Steve asked after several minutes of silence during which he
studied Lucas’ face.

“I’m no
one,” Lucas said.

He had worn
a mask during the raid when Steve was captured, his face hidden.  He
didn’t continue speaking, letting the uncomfortable silence draw out. 

“What do you
want?”  Steve asked, clearly nervous.

“I need you
to help me work something out,” Lucas said, noting the instant dilation of
Steve’s pupils.

“What?”

Lucas made a
show of opening a file folder and reading its contents.  He hadn’t brought
a file on Steve, didn’t need one.  The folder had been borrowed from one
of the guards that had checked him in to the prison and was full of blank paper
Lucas had grabbed out of a printer.  He spoke as he turned pages,
appearing to read from documents.

“You are
Stephen Ridley Johnson.  Born in Utica, New York in the United
States.  And you are an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. 
Correct so far?”

Lucas looked
up, miming the head position of someone peering over the top of a pair of
reading glasses.  Steve nodded, audibly swallowing, and Lucas continued.

“You
betrayed your country.  Made a deal with the Russians.  Murdered
another CIA officer.  Still correct?”

Steve stared
at him, the hope that had appeared in his eyes fading as he listened to
Lucas.  He didn’t acknowledge or deny the accusations.

“The only
law you’ve broken in Australia is committing murder.  There’s even some
doubt about that.  The argument is being made that the outpost was
technically US soil.  Kind of like an embassy.  Perhaps you haven’t
committed any crimes over which Australia has jurisdiction.”

Lucas closed
the file and placed it on the table in front of him, watching the impact of his
words on Steve.  Hope flared anew and he tried to sit straight, coming up
against his restraints with a jingle of chains pulling taut against the metal
ring.

“What do you
want?”  Steve asked, his voice sounding strong for the first time.

“Are you
familiar with the CIA system that allows activation of beacons embedded in the
person of specific officers?”

Steve paused
a beat before nodding.

“Can you
access the database that holds the codes for each person?”

“Why do you
need that?”  Steve asked.

“You don’t
want to be asking questions,” Lucas said.  “You want to be answering
them.”

“Why? 
What do I get out of it?”  Steve asked.

“Now that’s
a good question.  But the better question is what do you get if you don’t
cooperate.  The Americans want you back.  With what’s going on over
there, I suspect they don’t have the resources to keep you in a nice, safe
prison cell.  Besides, don’t you Americans execute traitors?”

Steve stared
at Lucas, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Yes, I can
get in,” he said after a moment.  “But you can’t send me back! 
You’re right.  They’ll execute me.  And you said it yourself.  I
haven’t committed any crime in or against Australia.  Let me go and I’ll
help.  I’ll even leave Australia if you want!”

Steve’s
voice rose and he spoke in a rush, grasping for a lifeline he had thought he’d
never see.

“First, I
need to know you can really do this,” Lucas said.  “Then we’ll discuss
what’s going to happen with you.  Tell me how you would access the
database.”

“If I tell
you how, you don’t need me any longer,” Steve whined, panic spreading through
him.

“The
method,” Lucas said patiently.  “How would you do it?”

Steve stared
back for nearly a minute, trying to evaluate Lucas.  Hoping to be able to
figure out if this was a genuine opportunity for him to regain his freedom. 
Unable to read the big man, he sighed and began speaking.

“It’s a
multi-tier system,” he said quietly.  “First level is just standard user
ID and password authentication.  Second level is a supervisory
password.  The third and final level is biometric.”

“And you
have all the passwords?  And biometric access?  Why would someone at
your level have access into such a sensitive area?”

“You came to
me,” Steve snapped.  “Do you want me to help, or not?”

“Answer my
question,” Lucas said softly.  “Or I can leave and come back next
month.  Doesn’t much matter to me, mate.”

“Who are you
trying to find?”  Steve suddenly asked, suspicion clear on his face.

“That’s not
your concern,” Lucas said, wanting to steer the conversation away from the “who”
question.

“If you want
my help, you tell me.  Or you can go try to hack in,” Steve said, his
mouth set in a defiant line.

“How about I
take you outside, shoot you in the leg and leave you for the dingos?” 
Lucas smiled for the first time, but it wasn’t a warm and friendly smile. 
“Ever seen a man taken by dingos?  They’re nasty little buggers. 
See, they don’t kill you right off.  The pack will tear out your Achilles
tendons so you can’t run.  Then they rip open your arms so you can’t
fight.  And when your laying there helpless, they move in and start
feasting.  Tear open your stomach and feed on your organs.  They like
‘em nice and fresh.  And the whole time, you’re just laying there. 
Wide awake.  Feeling everything until they bite into something that’ll
kill you quick.”

“You can’t
do that!”  Steve exclaimed.  “That kind of thing doesn’t happen here!”

“Where the
bloody hell do you think you are, mate?  This place doesn’t even have a
name.  No one besides me even knows who you are, and there sure as
bollocks isn’t anyone that cares about what I do to you.”

Lucas was
playing free with the truth.  Not that he wasn’t willing and capable of
carrying out his threat, but he would never be allowed to harm a
prisoner.  He was counting on Steve having knowledge of the rules in
American black site prisons and not realizing that Australia wasn’t willing to
go quite that far.  With prisoners.  But, once he had him
outside… 

“So,
mate.  What will it be?”  Lucas asked, giving Steve time to fully
develop the mental image he’d painted.

“I have my
supervisor’s password,” he finally said.  “That’s the man I killed at the
listening station.  My biometrics are still active from when I was at
Langley.  I checked a couple of weeks ago and still have all of my old
access.  I guess they forgot to disable it.  I get you in.  Then
I go free.  Immediately.  Wherever I want.”

Lucas stared
at him, thinking.  He had no idea if Steve was making shit up about how
the database was accessed or not.  The whole purpose was to see if the man
seemed like he did know, and was willing to cooperate.  At this point,
Lucas believed him, but also didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him with
one arm.  But it was a start.

“Agreed,”
Lucas said.  “You do this and the government of Australia will no longer
have an interest in you.”

Sam and
Gonzales sheltered behind the stairwell door.  Hearing the voice from the
other side had energized the Lieutenant.  He had ordered the Master Chief
to get the door open, keeping watch as the shorter man attached the breaching
charge.  In the safety of the stairs, Gonzales held the trigger up, thumb
hovering over the actuator button, and looked at Sam.

“Sure this
is a good idea, LT?  I mean, how the hell is someone still alive in there
after all this time?”

Gonzales
hadn’t heard the voice and was hesitant to open the door and release whatever
was on the other side.

“I’m sure,”
Sam answered.  “I know what I heard.”

“OK,
sir.  Hope you’re right,” Gonzales mumbled, pressing the button.

There was a
loud thump as the C-4 detonated and Sam led the way back into the second level
vestibule.  The charge had done the trick, neatly cutting the door around
the lock and freeing it.  As they approached, rifles up and trained, the
door swung open.  A slight figure stepped into view, one hand pushing the
heavy slab open.

“Who are
you?”  A female voice asked.

“US Navy,
ma’am,” Sam answered.

Gonzales
hung back, slipping to the side to keep his firing lane open as the Lieutenant
slowly approached the woman.

“Is it
over?”  She asked, taking a timid step into the vestibule.

“Is there
anyone else with you?”  Sam asked, ignoring her question.

“Just me,”
she said.  “I’ve been alone for a long time.  Tell me it’s
over.  Please.”

“No ma’am,
it’s not,” Sam said, stopping fifteen feet from where the woman stood.  “It’s
worse, if anything.”

Lowering his
rifle, Sam clicked on a small flashlight and pointed it at her.  As soon
as he saw her face without night vision, he dropped the light and snapped the
rifle back to his shoulder.  There was a frightened gasp from the woman
and she took a step away from the weapon.

“Don’t
move,” Sam warned.

“What’s
wrong?  What did I do?”  The woman asked.

“You see it
Master Chief?”  Sam asked without taking his attention off the woman.

“Yes,
sir.  I did.”

“Saw
what?  What are you talking about?”  The woman raised her voice.

“What’s your
name?”  Sam asked after a moment.

“Nicole,”
she answered, the fear obvious in her voice.  “What’s wrong?  Tell
me?”

“What are
you doing here?  How have you survived?”  Sam asked, rifle not
wavering.

“You’re
really scaring me,” Nicole said.  “Tell me what’s wrong and quit waving
that gun in my face.”

“It’s a
rifle, not a gun,” Sam responded automatically.  “Answer my questions
first.”

“I work
here.  Or I worked here.  I teach applied nuclear physics.  There’s
a security system that locks down the building and I got trapped inside a long
time ago.”

“How have
you survived?  Food and water?”  Gonzales asked.

He moved
again so he could keep an eye on the first door they had breached.  They
hadn’t taken the time to clear all the labs and rooms in that area of the
building and he didn’t want someone or something coming out of it and
surprising them.

“The staff
kitchen is back there,” she gestured behind her.  “There wasn’t a lot of
food, but enough to keep me alive.  And a water cooler with a couple of
spare jugs.  I ran out of food two days ago and am almost out of
water.  Now what’s wrong?”

Sam and
Gonzales exchanged glances.

“Thoughts,
Master Chief?”  He asked.

“What the
fuck are you talking about?”  Nicole shouted, stepping forward but
stopping when Sam adjusted his rifle and she found herself staring down the
barrel.

“Ma’am, if
you don’t keep your voice down I’m going to restrain and gag you,” Sam said.

“What?” 
Nicole whispered, eyes wide with fear.  “What did I do?”

“Beats the
hell out of me, sir,” Gonzales answered, ignoring Nicole and answering Sam’s
question.

Sam thought
for a moment, coming to a decision.  Stepping backwards, he moved away
from the woman.

“Take a
seat.  There,” he indicated a small grouping of chairs pushed against the
far wall.  “Don’t speak or go anywhere else.”

Nicole
stared at him, her mouth open in shock.

“Now,” Sam
hissed.

Wrapping her
arms protectively across her chest, she slowly walked to the closest chair and
lowered herself into it.  Her eyes never left the weapon in Sam’s hands.

“Check it
out, Master Chief,” Sam said.

As Gonzales
came forward, approaching the door, Sam repositioned so he could see all of the
entrances into the vestibule as well as Nicole.  The Master Chief disappeared
through the damaged door. 

“Please tell
me what’s wrong,” Nicole said, earning a stern look and a shush from Sam.

Gonzales was
gone for most of ten minutes, checking in with Sam over the radio twice in that
time.  When he emerged from the hall, after calling that he was coming
out, he walked to the Lieutenant and leaned close to speak with him in a low
mumble.

“Checks out,
LT.  Big kitchen and lots of empty food wrappers.  Two empty water
jugs and one that’s got maybe a quart left in it.  Found where she’s been
sleeping.  No one else back there and no bodies, either.”

“See. 
I was telling the truth,” Nicole said from the far side of the room.

Sam and
Gonzales both turned to look at her in surprise.

“What?”

“You heard
that?”  Sam asked.  He’d had to concentrate to hear the Master
Chief’s low mutters as he spoke only inches from his ear.

“Of course I
did.  I’m not deaf,” she said.  “Now that you know I’m telling the
truth, what the hell is wrong?”

“Any mirrors
back there, Master Chief?”  Sam asked, not bothering to keep his voice
down.

“Not that I
found.  No, sir.  Small bathroom, but no mirror in it.”

“Look. 
I know I’m not a supermodel or anything and haven’t had a shower in a long
time, but seriously.  What the hell is wrong with you guys?”

Nicole stood
and faced them, hands on her hips.  Her fear had turned to frustration and
was well on its way to becoming anger.

With a sigh,
Sam reached into a pocket and pulled out a battered iPhone.  He hadn’t had
a signal for a long time, but every photo he had of his wife was on the
device.  He’d been able to keep it charged at the research facility,
opening the pics and looking at her face every time he had a chance.

Letting his
rifle hang from its sling, he stepped closer to Nicole, held the phone up and
snapped a picture.  Tapping a button, the freshly captured image filled
the screen.  Reversing it in his hand, he held it for her to see. 
She gasped, stepping forward for a better look.

“Oh. 
Oh my God,” she breathed.

Looking up at
Sam, she held his gaze with her blood red eyes.