Spiral (36 page)

The Comanche banked gently, gaining altitude as it approached the mountainous regions of Northern Rub al’Khali. The Great Sandy Desert. Vast and wild and undiscovered.

Natasha gazed down at the mountains, the narrow crevasses and rocky gullies, the spirals of rocky depression, some filled with the fresh clear water of mountain streams, the occasional herd of antelope or gazelle on the lower slopes casting eyes upwards and scattering as the Comanche droned like a huge insect low overhead, below radar. Natasha spotted lone huts and small villages huddled into the sides of the mountains for protection; some villages were of mud brick, some of canvas, sheltering beneath the wide swinging woods of poplar before the land dropped sharply, dizzyingly to the lowlands south and west of the marshes and then on to the desert.

Carter stirred, his eyes coming open.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Natasha.

‘Like a man who’s been shot.’

‘Much pain?’

‘I’ve felt better,’ said Carter.

‘Well, you’re all sewn up, and on the road to recovery. I think you’ll probably be stiff for a few weeks.’

‘Huh.
Not
the story of my life.’ Carter winced. He pulled himself higher in the cockpit, gazed out, down, head rattling with the noise from the twin LHTec engines. He watched the mountains roll down into deserts. He gazed out to the east, but could see no sign of any major city. He rested his head back, mind spinning, confused after recent events. He glanced at Natasha - who was staring down at the landscape flowing like a sand river below them.

‘How about you, Nats? Are you OK?’

Natasha did not turn, her gaze fixed on some distant invisible point.

‘Yes.’ Her voice was cold.

He took her hand and squeezed her warm flesh. ‘I’m sorry. About Gol - what he did was a brave thing. He did it to protect his mission, his organisation. He was the key to stopping the enemy; he knew the schematics would allow us time, would slow down the QIII’s dominance ... whoever wants that processor working obviously has big plans for its implementation. And if it really can predict the future...’

‘If?’

Carter shrugged. ‘Sounds impossible to me. But
if
it can - then whoever controls such a weapon, for that is what it is - whoever controls such a weapon will be powerful indeed.’

‘There’s more than that, Carter.’

Carter frowned; half in pain, half in confusion.

‘Yeah?’

‘This system - the schematics I saw, in its early stages of inception: they were mind-blowing. If it became operational in the wrong hands - it could take over world finance, it could fuck Wall Street and the Dow Jones straight up the arse. But more than that, it would control…’

‘Weapons?’

Nats nodded. ‘Everything is computerised, Carter. Missiles, strategic instructions, the whole Battlegrid ...’

‘And nuclear weapons?’

‘Oh yes, Carter.’

She glanced down at him, her eyes red-rimmed. ‘I loved Gol, Carter, y’know? Even after our fight... even though our hot words tore each other to shreds... and then, in Kenya when we made up, when he took me in his arms again, everything in the world felt right. Everything became good again and I suddenly realised how much I had lost. I loved him - and I know he died protecting Spiral but—

‘But?’

‘I can’t help thinking there is something out of place.’

‘Like the Nex?’

‘Yes.’

Carter smiled grimly. ‘If we find who controls the Nex, we find out who is after manipulating the QIII. And we know that same fucker is the one who’s been tagging Spiral and the DemolSquads.’

Natasha merely nodded, and Carter reached over and wiped away the tears that glistened on her cheeks. ‘Now is not the time to be talking of this,’ he said. ‘Maybe Gol is still alive.’ His words slipped out, sounding lame even to his own ears. But he had to force himself to say it; he had to try and help Natasha and he knew -
knew
that silence was sometimes a good thing but he so desperately wanted to help her, to ease her pain, to make the hurt come better ...

Natasha did not reply. She gazed back out of the window but her fingers took Carter’s hand and squeezed. He said no more but was merely there - there for her.

Carter laughed inwardly.

I wonder just how powerful this QIII really is? he thought.

And more importantly, who seeks to control it? To dominate the world?

The face of Feuchter floated into his mind; he remembered that chilling smile, and the look in the man’s eyes. He had believed; believed in his actions, without a hint of insanity. He would have killed Carter there and then and not thought twice about it...

You fucker, Carter thought.

But then - that was too easy. Feuchter was not in charge; he was a lackey, a stooge, a slave to somebody bigger and altogether more intimidating. Somebody who was trying to undermine and destroy Spiral... but Spiral was almost invisible. Its acts were legendary, but its name was unknown outside—

Realisation came like a shot from the dark.

It had to be somebody on the inside.

It had to be somebody high up in Spiral.

Betrayal.

The word tasted bad on Carter’s tongue, and he drifted off to sleep once again, loss of blood making him unnaturally weary. His dreams swirled, with hordes of Nex armed with machine pistols and masks struggling to climb over their dead comrades to get at him, to maim him, to kill him...

And then Gol was there. A colossus, a huge gun in his hands, cutting the Nex in half with streams of bullets.

‘What are they?’ cried Carter. ‘What the
fuck
are they?’

Gol smiled; a sickly-sweet smile; then ripped off his face to reveal the copper eyes of a Nex ...

Carter came awake with a hiss.

It was night. He was alone in the cockpit of the Comanche, a blanket wrapped around him. His tongue ran around the stale interior of his mouth and he gazed out of the cockpit, up at the clear black sky. Stars twinkled far above.

The virgin silence was infinite.

He eased himself up, released the cockpit hatch and struggled down the ladder. Natasha and Langan were seated beside a small - very small - fire. Langan was brewing coffee over the flames in a small pan.

Carter looked around warily. ‘Is it safe to light a fire here?’

‘We’ve checked out the surroundings. We’re miles from any settlements - single houses, even.’

‘I don’t like it. People can see it from miles away ...’

‘And they can hear the roar of a Comanche from even further. We needed a break, Carter.
I
need a break - I’m not a fucking pilot from God, you know. Have you ever seen what happens to a Comanche when the pilot nods off?’

‘How long do you need?’

‘Yeah, I’m feeling fine and thanks for your concern. About three hours and some strong coffee. And maybe then I’ll be ready to take on the vast endless unexplored open spaces of Rub al’Khali on a wild-goose chase with no real set objective ...’

‘Feuchter is at the end of it. That’s objective enough.’

‘Is he really going to have all the answers?’ asked Langan.

‘Only if I ask the right fucking questions,’ said Carter. He settled beside the fire, his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, his face still grey with exhaustion. He smiled weakly at Langan. ‘You seem a tad on edge, my friend.’

Langan patted Carter’s arm. ‘I could say the same about you, but you’ve recently been shot so I think I’ll forgive your tetchiness. Also, flying illegally over Rub al’Khali ground is not my idea of fun. If we’re caught trespassing in Saudi airspace ... they’ll either send everything they fucking have at us and claim some breach of international law, or it’ll kick off some major fucking United Nations fuck-up and we’ll all be in the shit.’

‘We’ll just have to stay covert, then.’

‘Easy for you to say. I’m the bastard with the responsibility.’

‘How we doing for fuel?’

‘I visited a Spiral dump while you were asleep. We’re fully fuelled and ready to rumble.’

Carter nodded, and rested his head and back against the small clump of boulders beside which Langan had built the fire. He said, his eyes closed, ‘I suggest we stay here for the rest of the night. All get some much-needed rest. How far to where you reckon this Spiral_Q computer processor development centre actually is?’

‘We’re presently about a hundred and fifty kilometres south and west of Tabuk. As long as we keep away from all major civilisation - not exactly difficult in this area -then we can carry on skirting down towards the Jaba Sawda and the desert to the west; that is our final destination. We’ll be able to head for the rough co-ords Gol gave me before he ...’ Langan’s voice trailed off. He glanced at Natasha whose eyes were closed, her face stony. ‘I can have us there within two hours, but from here on in it’s a much harder ride; there’s definitely a heavier military presence although I’m not sure why, probably soured relations with another Middle Eastern State, OPEC or the OIC. It’s also easy to spot that we shouldn’t be the fuck where we are. We’re not exactly flying in diplomatic colours; and this Comanche is quite obviously a war machine. We’ll have to move more slowly, more cautiously. And the cherry on the Bakewell is that I am unfamiliar with the terrain.’

‘I wish I hadn’t asked.’

‘It would have been better for you to go in over land.’

‘Oh yeah, what in? A hastily stolen Skoda that some fuckwit had just left lying around?’

Langan grinned. ‘You know Spiral has vehicle and weapons stashes all over the world. We could backtrace to the nearest SP1plot, tool you up, send you out.’

Carter shook his head. ‘One, we haven’t got the time. The Comanche is fucking fast. Two, I’m not exactly in the best physical state to be piloting some desert sand buggy over the dunes. And finally, it’s good to see you really pissed off. And watching you skip wire and dodge MIGs and missiles is a joy to behold.’

‘You’re a cunt, Carter.’

‘Better believe it.’

Langan dished out the coffee, which they drank sweet and black. Smoke drifted up into the vast void above the Rub al’Khali desert and Carter felt suddenly at peace. The pain - which he had recently grown accustomed to -had lessened and he felt almost comfortable, at ease... He could not put a finger on the reason for this sudden euphoria but the beauty of the night sky had something to do with it, and the feeling that he was doing the right thing - headed on the right course - no longer the
hunted,
but the
hunter
... he had turned the image around in his brain, become the predator, become the one in control.

It might be limited control, but now he was calling the shots.

Send the fucking Nex, he thought. I’ll kill them all.

Let’s see what answers you have, Count Feuchter.

Let’s see what song you sing.

The dawn broke, grey light spreading across the horizon. Wrapped in blankets, the small group roused themselves, drank more coffee courtesy of Langan and then, gathering what little detritus they had created, climbed stiff-limbed back into the Comanche.

Langan warmed up the engines, then eased his baby into the air, scattering sand. Slowly, he increased the speed, and they skimmed low over the desert and rocky landscape. Occasionally they would pass low ranges of hills, mainly rounded rocks all scattered with orange sand and small scrub bushes. Occasionally they would see small groups of date palms around a life-giving oasis, but Langan avoided these outposts for they attracted local herders and villagers.

As they droned low over the desert, Carter - now fully awake, alert and seeming more like his old self after the night’s sleep, only occasionally wincing breathlessly at the stabs of pain within his battered body - took the spare HIDSS helmet from its compartment behind Langan.

‘How does it work?’

‘Pop it on,’ said Langan. ‘I’ll show you.’

Carter pulled the helmet over his head, and positioned the mike and sensors in front of his face; finally, he slid down the mounted flight-information display. The terrain ahead of the Comanche sprang to life and Carter gasped at the digital image.

‘Impressed?’

‘Fuck me.’

Data scrolled down both sides of the visor; occasionally symbols flickered into life and targets were highlighted with different colours and symbols. Carter noted the weapons-system tracker in the top right corner and he licked his lips nervously.

‘Have I got some form of control here?’

‘Only if I patch you in.’

‘Don’t.’

‘That wasn’t my intention, Mr Carter. You are a novice. You don’t even like flying - the last thing I am going to do is allow you control of my beloved Comanche.’

‘Spiral’s
Comanche.’

‘That depends on your point of view.’

‘So tell me about the helmet. How does it work?’

‘What you are wearing, Mr Carter, is a helmet that provides acoustic and impact protection combined with a magnetic helmet tracker. This son of a bitch stops you going deaf, especially in battle situations when the shit hits the fan: it has a bi-ocular FOV at 53° x 30° CRT with a 1023-line refresh - that means it’s a motherfucking clear display that gives you a wide field of view, important when approaching a possible combat encounter. The HIDSS offers both flight-information and night-vision sensors on screen, and uses flight data with sensor images and piloting and targeting symbology to allow aggravated aggressive flight manoeuvring and combat, especially at night.’