Текст книги "Zero Hour"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Graham Brown
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

ELEVEN

Joe’s plan was in full bloom now. He’d set up a pulley system, running the cable from the front of the last Jeep, around the tubular steel brush guard on one of the SUVs, and attached it to the tail end of another SUV.

His plan was simple: push the hooked vehicle into the water and over the edge. As it dropped, the cable would drag the Jeep forward rapidly enough for Joe to pop the clutch and get the engine going.

Ready to go, he checked on Bradshaw once more, crossed his fingers, and moved to the SUV he was using as a deadweight. He couldn’t open the windows without power, so he smashed them in. He opened all the doors and the tailgate and even popped the hood. Anything to let air out and water in to help the SUV sink faster.

He put the transmission in neutral, released the brake, and then hopped out. Digging his feet hard into the sand, Joe began pushing. Little by little, the SUV began to move, its pace quickened as it reached the firmer soil at the water’s edge. With a last great shove, Joe pushed it off and stepped back, almost losing his balance and tumbling into the toxic soup.

The SUV rolled out and began to fill with water. It nosed over just like the first vehicle had, then stopped as the wire cable pulled taut.

Joe ran back to the Jeep and hopped in. He made sure the key was turned and released the brakes. It began to move forward, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as the sinking SUV pulled on the cable.

Joe waited as long as he could and then popped the clutch.

The engine surged, stuttered, and then fired up. He pressed in the clutch and held it as he hit the brakes. The Jeep stopped a few feet shy of ramming the pulley vehicle.

Foot still on the clutch, he gave the Jeep some gas, revving the engine. After a few seconds, it began to hum nicely, and when he finally let off the gas, it went into a steady idle. With the parking brake firmly set, Joe got out and moved to the winch at the front of the Jeep.

He put a hand on the release lever and yanked it downward. The jaws of the drum parted, releasing the metal cord. It flung forward under great tension and whiplashed across the pulley car, shattering the windshield, before sliding across the sand and following the sinking SUV down into the lake.

Joe gave a salute to the departing vehicle and climbed back into the Jeep. He put the radio on the charger and watched as the red light lit up.

He glanced at his own reflection in the mirror. “You’re good, Zavala,” he said to himself. “You’re very good.”

Guessing it would take several minutes for the radio to store up enough power to be useful, Joe decided to check on his patient.

He jumped out of the idling Jeep and moved quickly to where Bradshaw lay. The man was unconscious, but he was still breathing.

“Hang in there,” Joe whispered.

Out on the lake, the water began to stir. A slight bulge was forming near the center, halfway between the shore and the floating truck. Something was moving beneath the surface, like a killer whale charging the beach.

For a second, Joe hoped it might be Kurt in the speeder. But the object broke through and revealed itself as a twenty-foot-long submersible with a wide, rubber-skirted bottom. The reason for that design became clear seconds later as the sub rose up out of the water and began racing across the surface, leaving a wide swath of foam beneath and behind it.

“A submersible-hovercraft,” Joe marveled. “That’s even better than a truck that swims.”

For twenty seconds, the hovercraft traveled northward along the surface, then it turned slightly to the east, raced out of the water on the far side of the pit and up onto the ramp.

Joe realized he was witnessing the group who’d ambushed the ASIO making their escape.

“I don’t think so,” he said. He rushed to the idling Jeep and climbed in. He paused for a second, considering Bradshaw. There was nothing he could do for him. But as soon as the radio was charged, he’d call for help.

He jammed the transmission into gear and stomped on the gas pedal. The tires spun in the gravel as he tore off after the fleeing hovercraft.

* * *

Down in the empty station, Kurt continued to look for Hayley. He climbed and checked two additional levels as quickly as he could before finally pushing through the uppermost hatch and coming out in some kind of control room.

In the far corner, two figures sat bound and gagged on the floor. Kurt ran over to them and pulled the gag off Hayley’s mouth.

“Explosives,” she blurted out, not even uttering a hello. “Under the panel.”

Kurt cut her loose and left her with the knife as he rushed to the panel and slid beneath it. He found the blocks of plastic explosives and the timer. It read 01:07 and was counting down by the second.

He took out the wire cutters as Hayley freed the guy beside her. He was about to snip one of the wires when they rushed up behind him, crowding him more than he would have liked.

“Either of you know anything about explosives?” he asked.

They shook their heads.

“We should get out of here,” Hayley said, gulping.

The clock hit 00:59. They had less than a minute. Kurt shook his head. “We’ll never make it.”

The guy from the ASIO reached for the timer. Kurt slapped his hand. “Press the wrong button and you’ll blow us to bits.”

He pointed. A tiny lock symbol was illuminated at the top of the screen. If Kurt was right, they would need to enter a code to stop the countdown.

“We can’t just sit here,” the guy said.

“Forty seconds,” Hayley mentioned.

Kurt studied the detonator. It was a standard industrial design, not a bombmaker’s toy. He’d used similar devices scuttling a few ships. If he was right, it should fail-safe instead of fail-deadly. It was connected to two wires, red and blue.

“Thirty seconds.”

The ASIO guy bumped Kurt, trying to get a better look.

“What’s your name?” Kurt asked.

“Wiggins.”

“Back up, Wiggins,” Kurt said.

“Twenty seconds,” Hayley said stressfully.

“What good will that do?” Wiggins asked.

“It will get you out of my space.”

They eased off of him a bit, and Kurt opened the wire strippers as wide as possible.

“Ten seconds,” Hayley said. “Nine… eight…”

Kurt didn’t wait for her to hit seven. He reached out and snipped both wires as emphatically as he could.

Nothing happened. No fire, no explosion, nothing. The timer stopped at 00:00.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Hayley said.

Appearing ready to collapse, she put her arms on Kurt’s shoulders and lay her forehead against his back.

“Great job,” Wiggins said. “Did Bradshaw send you?”

“Not exactly,” Kurt replied. Before he could explain, a rumble shook the structure, followed by several concussions in rapid succession. It sounded like distant thunder. The floor tilted slightly and then came back to level. The whole station swayed and creaked like an old tree in the wind.

“The dome,” Hayley said. “They were going to blow that too.”

Another round of explosions went off, and this time the shock wave hit like a sledgehammer. The sound of snapping cables followed. Moments later, the crunching impact of a collision knocked all of them to the floor.

Kurt remembered that the dome was above them and anchored to them, and he could only imagine what its destruction would do to the dilapidated laboratory. The sound of metal sliding on metal and the appearance of pinpoint jets of water blasting across the room gave him his answer.

TWELVE

Joe was racing across the desert in a V-8 Jeep Wrangler. With its big knobby tires, powerful engine, and high centerline clearance, the Jeep’s off-road capabilities were among the best in the world. But they didn’t compare to the ability of a hovercraft to cross rugged terrain.

Joe had to work hard to keep the Jeep upright as it scrambled through ravines, across uneven ground, and around patches of scrub too thick to drive through. The hovercraft simply flew over them and continued in a straight line.

He was losing ground fast until he came to a smooth section that reminded him of the Utah Salt Flats. Out on the level terrain, Joe began to catch up. As he closed the gap, the light on the handheld radio finally turned green.

Joe snatched it off the charger and pressed the talk switch.

“ASIO, do you read?” he said, assuming that’s who was listening. “Anyone out there?”

A scratchy reply came back. “Bradshaw, is that you?”

“Negative,” Joe said. “Bradshaw has been injured. You have several agents down.”

“Who is this?” the voice on the other end of the line asked.

Joe explained the best he could, and also explained that he was chasing the suspected shooters westbound through the desert.

“What road are you on?”

“I’m not on any road,” Joe said. “We’re heading cross-country, due west from the flooded mine. Right into the sun.”

A garbled reply came back, and then the radio cut out once again. Joe slammed it back onto the charger. Ahead of him, the hovercraft was turning, skidding sideways. It ended up rotated 180 degrees and pointing right at him.

Joe began to swerve, but it was a little too late. Something flashed, as much in his mind as in his eyes, and Joe’s world went instantly dark.

* * *

“We have to get out of here,” Kurt shouted, ushering everyone to the ladder.

Hayley went first, Wiggins in the middle, and Kurt bringing up the rear.

Another impact jarred the structure, and Kurt almost lost his grip. He grabbed the hatch above and pulled it down, but it wouldn’t seal. Like a door that couldn’t be closed because the frame had swollen, the hatch would not pull flush.

“The impact must have warped the deck plates,” Wiggins suggested.

Kurt gave it one more try, putting all his weight on it, but the tiny gap remained. Water began to run down the inside of the ladder well, water that Kurt had no interest in touching.

“Go,” he said to Wiggins.

The two of them slid to the bottom level and soon made it to the airlock. Hayley was already there, pulling on her helmet. They were wearing dry suits. With gloves and full helmets, they theoretically wouldn’t be exposed to the toxins of the lake.

Water was now pouring down, accompanied by the creaking and groaning of metal stressed to the limits. The station would implode in moments.

“We can’t go straight up,” Kurt said. “You’ve both been down here for too long. You’ll end up with the bends like the courier did.”

“We have to get away,” she said.

“Grab on to the handholds,” Kurt said. “I’ll tow you as far away as we can go.”

She nodded and sealed her helmet.

Kurt climbed onto the speeder and then closed and locked the canopy. The lights went out as Hayley and Wiggins were pulling on their tanks. Kurt switched on the headlight of the speeder so they could see.

With their air supplies attached, Wiggins gave Hayley the thumbs-up. She returned the gesture.

“Here we go,” Kurt said to himself.

They pushed the speeder back into the immersion pool and dropped in after it. As soon as they’d grabbed on, Kurt expelled all the air from the flotation tank, and they began to sink.

They cleared the bottom of the portal in three seconds.

“Hold on!” Kurt yelled, hoping they could somehow hear him.

He twisted the throttle slowly, and the water jet that powered the speeder began to thrust. He accelerated slowly, but to only about half speed. Any faster and his passengers would be pulled off.

With the headlights blazing, Kurt stared through the rose-tinted water. He dove a few feet to avoid one of the guide wires and continued forward. Compressional explosions came from behind as compartments of the station gave way.

A group of flashes traveled up and down the vertical collection of pipes that hung from the center of the damaged dome. More explosives being triggered.

Each flash backlit the structure the way lightning might silhouette an abandoned building. What was left of the dome had already collided with the station and slid off to the side. It scraped downward and lodged against a seam, an act which proved to be the last nail in the coffin for the lab.

The hull plating buckled, and the water crushed it inward, mashing it like a giant foot stepping on a tin can. A surge of light and air blasted outward, sending a shock wave across the flooded pit. Hayley and Wiggins were actually sucked backward toward the station for a second before being thrown violently forward as clouds of sediment exploded out of the dark.

As the concussion wave hit, the speeder was tossed around like a child’s toy. Kurt banged his head against the canopy as it tumbled. He spun around and caught sight of Hayley and Wiggins just as the churning waves of silt swallowed them whole.

THIRTEEN

The noise reached Joe through the fog of sleep. At first, it sounded like a sprinkler irrigating a field, repetitive and sharp, only slower: chih-chih-chih-chih-chih…

Joe’s mind wandered to the stretches of farmland he’d grown up around in New Mexico and the high-pressure irrigation that was used to bring the desert to life. Somehow, even half asleep, he knew he wasn’t in New Mexico.

When he opened his eyes, the world was a blur. He tasted something salty and put a hand to his mouth, it came away red with blood. Blood that was trickling from a gash in his forehead, running down his nose and onto his lips.

His vision began to clear, and he realized he was in the driver’s seat of a motor vehicle. The windshield in front of him was smashed in a starburst pattern that lined up with his head. The nose of the vehicle was pointed down at a sharp angle, like he’d driven into a ditch.

Even as his other symptoms cleared, the strange noise continued. It even became more distinct, sounding for all the world like a giant fan turning at moderate speed.

Shouts from outside the Jeep reached his ears.

“Over here,” someone said.

“Get a crowbar.”

The door beside him moved. Fingers appeared around the edge and wrenched it several inches. A face appeared in the gap.

“Are you okay, mate?” a man in army fatigues asked.

Joe put a hand to the gash on his forehead. “I’ve been better.”

“Sit tight. We’re gonna get you out.”

The soldier went to work on the bent and twisted door, helped by another soldier who’d brought a crowbar. Together, they forced the door wider an inch at a time.

As they worked, Joe’s memory returned. He was in Australia. He’d been chasing after another vehicle. He tried to peer around the starburst in the windshield for any sign of the hovercraft, thinking for a moment that they might have hit head-on. He saw only the dirt wall of the gully he’d gone into.

The door beside him finally broke loose, and the soldiers reached in to help him. With care, they pulled him free of the mangled wreck. As one of them searched the Jeep, the other led Joe out of the ditch and toward a tan-colored NH90 helicopter with Australian military markings.

Now Joe realized where the odd sound had been coming from. The rotors above the big transport were still turning.

A stern-looking man in a black suit met him a few feet from the helicopter’s door.

“Are you the one who called us in?” the man asked. “On Bradshaw’s radio?”

Joe nodded. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“The guys I was chasing,” Joe explained, “did you catch them? They were in a hovercraft.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Hovercraft?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Joe said, “but that’s what they were driving. Afraid I can’t give you a make and model.”

The man shook his head glumly. “Whatever they were in, we didn’t find them.” He motioned toward the open door of the helicopter. “We have to debrief you. This bird will take you back to Alice Springs.”

“What about Bradshaw?” Joe asked.

“He was medevaced out thirty minutes ago.”

“Thirty minutes ago?” Confusion swept over Joe. He felt like he’d made the call no less than thirty seconds ago. Even given his few minutes of unconsciousness, they couldn’t have gotten to Bradshaw that quickly.

Only then did he realize it was nearly dark. The sun had been dropping toward the horizon during his chase, but it was long gone now. Only a faded orange glow lingered in the darkening sky.

The helicopter blades began to accelerate above them as the pilot spooled up for liftoff. “It took us a while to find you,” the man explained.

“What about Kurt?”

“Who?”

“Kurt Austin.”

“I don’t know that name,” the man said. He took Joe’s arm and ushered him toward the door. “Please, we have to go.”

Joe shook loose from the man’s grasp. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to my friend. He went down into the mine to rescue your divers.”

The official made a strange face. “There was an explosion,” he said. “If your friend survived, he’s been flown out. But no one’s left at the lake now except the dead.”

With a sick feeling in his heart, Joe climbed aboard the helicopter and strapped himself in. As he flew, night tightened its grip on the land. By the time he arrived at the Australian military base outside Alice Springs, the sky was like black cloth punctured by some of the brightest stars Joe had ever seen.

He was taken to the infirmary first. A young doctor looked him over and tested for signs of chemical or metal poisoning. After informing Joe that he’d live, the doctor left and an even younger nurse came in. She stitched up the gash in his head where he’d smashed it into the windshield.

Shortly after finishing, she jabbed him in the arm with a shot.

“Oww!”

“Tetanus and antibiotics,” she said.

“Sure,” Joe said, rubbing his bicep. “But aren’t you supposed to warn me or tell me that that’s not going to hurt first?”

“Why lie?” she asked. “Besides, I thought you Yanks were tough.”

“It’s been a rough day,” he admitted. “Speaking of Yanks, have you treated any other Americans tonight? Maybe a guy six feet tall with silver hair.”

“Sorry,” she said, packing up her things, “you’re the first.”

After the nurse left, Joe was taken to a different section of the base. It seemed like basic housing or perhaps quarters for the NCOs.

His escort/guard opened the door to reveal a room with two bunks, a utilitarian desk placed between them, and cinder-block walls. It reminded Joe of a dorm room, right down to the roommate already lying on one of the beds with his feet up.

Joe stepped inside, the door was locked behind him, and Kurt Austin sat up.

“Damn, I’m glad to see you,” Joe said. “They had me thinking you’d become part of the junk pile at the bottom of that mine.”

Kurt stood and gave Joe a bear hug. “I had a similar fear about you. Didn’t expect to surface and find Bradshaw, sunning himself on the beach unattended. I was afraid those thugs got the drop on you.”

“I figured he wasn’t up to four-wheeling through the desert,” Joe replied.

Kurt looked at him oddly. “I’m guessing by the stitches that your chase ended with some extracurricular activities?”

“No,” Joe said, “I didn’t catch them. I ended up in a ditch somehow. But considering how well I was doing up until that point, I’m thinking about entering the Baja 1000 next year.”

“You don’t win the Baja by crashing, Joe. You know that, right?”

“I didn’t crash, amigo, I was…” Joe paused. “Okay, I guess I did crash, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my fault.”

The vagueness of his own recollection was puzzling to Joe. He tried hard to remember. “One second, I was going head-on with them… there was a flash, like the glare of sunlight off a pane of glass, and then… I must have swerved. Though, I honestly can’t remember.”

“You sound like Bradshaw,” Kurt noted.

“How is he, by the way?”

“Alive, thanks to you. They had him in surgery.”

Joe was glad to hear that. “Did you find your scientist down there?”

“Her and another diver from the ASIO. They were basically strapped to a bomb. We escaped, but the station imploded.”

“Are they all right?”

“As far as I know,” Kurt said. “I lost track of them for a moment when the station blew. When I found them, both were unconscious. But thanks to the gripper claws you put on the front of the speeder, I was able to grab them and bring them slowly to the surface.”

Joe smiled with pride. “So the speeder performed like a champ. I knew it would.”

“You may have a future in this submarine business,” Kurt said. “That is, if you can give up your dreams of middle management and off-road racing.”

Joe laughed and took a seat at the desk between the two bunks. He rapped his knuckles against the cinder-block wall. “So are we in prison or protective custody?”

“No idea,” Kurt replied. “Nor do I have any idea what I’ve gotten us into. But if they ever let me talk to someone, I’m damned well determined to find out.”

“Or,” Joe said, “just go with me on this – we could pretend it was all a big misunderstanding and be about our business.”

The furrow in Kurt’s brow showed his feelings on that idea. “What fun would that be?”

Joe knew Kurt so well, he could have predicted that answer. Once his friend sunk his teeth into a mystery, there was no turning back, not until he found what he was looking for.

Unfortunately, no answers would come for the next few hours. In fact, no one bothered them until well past midnight, when the door was unlatched and a pair of Australian military personnel came in. MPs, or the Aussie equivalent, dressed in fatigues. One male, one female.

“Mr. Austin?” the male soldier said. “Please come with me.”

Kurt stood wearily. Joe did the same.

“Not you, Mr. Zavala,” the female guard said. “You stay here.”

Joe feigned great indignation. “What? Nobody wants to interrogate me? I might know a thing or two.”

Kurt moved to the door. “I’m sure they’ll bring you in when I’m done. Don’t wait up.”

The male guard allowed Kurt to pass by and then escorted him down the hall.

Joe lost sight of him and leaned stoically against the wall. To his surprise, the female guard remained behind even as the door was shut.

Joe studied her. She was pretty, despite the lack of makeup and the baggy uniform. It occurred to Joe that she might be there to conduct a surreptitious interrogation. He figured he’d make it easy on her and attempt to find out what she might know in the process.

“Here to keep an eye on me?” he asked.

No reply.

“You know,” he said more smoothly, “there’s something I love about a woman in uniform.”

Still nothing. If she was supposed to charm him, the statue routine was not going over with high marks.

“Not a people person, are you?” Joe said. “So how do you feel about… UFOs?”

She still didn’t speak, but this time the corners of her mouth curled into a slight but apparently irrepressible smile. Joe smiled back. Now he was getting somewhere.

* * *

While Joe attempted to charm his guard, Kurt was led on a hike across what seemed like half the military base. They passed the infirmary and continued on until they reached a long hallway. Additional guards or MPs stood at the far end.

“Third door on your right,” Kurt’s escort said.

The corridor was gloomy. The paint on the walls peeling. Equipment covered by dusty tarps lay stacked against the wall, as the fluorescent lights flickered. It looked like the kind of place where they might keep the electroshock therapy equipment.

“Aren’t you going with me?” Kurt asked.

The guard stood with his hands behind his back. He said nothing.

“Guess not.”

Kurt took a deep breath and moved slowly down the hall until he reached the third door. He twisted the handle and stepped into a moderately lit room with all the equipment of an ICU. Lying in a bed on the right – with an oxygen line attached to his nose and an IV drip hooked up to his arm – was Cecil Bradshaw. He did not look well.

Kurt closed the door.

Bradshaw turned his head. His eyes were dark, sunken, and half closed.

“Glad to see you,” Kurt said. “Thought I was about to get hooked up to the power grid for a moment.”

Bradshaw’s eyes crinkled a bit, the closest he could come to a smile. He stretched for the switch that controlled the hospital bed, but he couldn’t reach it.

“Prop me up, will ya?”

Kurt found the button that raised the back of the bed and pressed it, holding it down until Bradshaw was almost in a sitting position.

An alarm began to flash on the monitor for a second, indicating Bradshaw’s pulse had dropped into the fifties and that his pressure was a little low.

“That’s what happens when you lose half your blood,” Bradshaw said. “They’ve been pumping it back in all night.”

“Surprised you had anyleft to begin with,” Kurt said.

“I’m a heartless bastard,” Bradshaw insisted. “We don’t require much.”

“Lucky for you.”

“I made them take me off the painkillers,” the ASIO chief went on to explain, “so I could talk to you clearly. First, I want to thank you for being the type of idiot who doesn’t know when to quit. I reckon that Hayley, Wiggins, and I all owe you our lives.”

Kurt appreciated the sentiment. “There’s a rugby match I’ve been wanting to see. Get me good seats, and we’ll call it even.”

Bradshaw laughed a little, but it made him cough. “The other night, after you intervened at the Opera House, I almost asked you to help out. I had a feeling about you. But once you mentioned the decompression sickness, I was able to put the puzzle together, so I let it go. Good thing I did or you’d have been right alongside us when we got hit. And then we’d allbe dead.”

“A bit of luck,” Kurt noted.

“Seems so,” Bradshaw agreed. “I hope there’s more where that came from. I don’t have enough wind to beat around the bush, so I’ll just say it straight. I want you to take over the investigation.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed.

“You guessed right,” Bradshaw explained, “I have a leak in my department. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it’s the only logical explanation. Despite my efforts, someone seems to know what we’re doing almost before we do. They’re batting a perfect record at beating us to the punch.”

“Is that why we’re here on the air base instead of in a civilian hospital?”

“That’s exactly the reason,” Bradshaw said. “My men are being told I’m still in surgery, and then they’ll hear that I haven’t regained consciousness. Aside from Wiggins and Hayley – who are temporarily being held in solitary like you and Zavala – no one is being informed of your presence or interference.”

“These things have a way of leaking out,” Kurt noted, “especially if we start poking around asking questions. Which, considering that we’re Americans, might be a little tricky down here on Australian soil.”

“It would be tricky,” Bradshaw agreed, “if you were stayingon Australian soil.”

Kurt leaned against a desk. “What are you saying?”

“We’re dealing with terrorists here,” Bradshaw replied. “We believe the next phase of their plan will be launched from somewhere offshore.”

“Based on what?”

“Our informant,” Bradshaw said. “We’ve been told the project in the outback has been superseded by a larger, more dangerous plan. Evidence bears that out. Considering the effort it must have taken to build and hide that lab – or whatever you might call it – it’s completely irrational to blow it up unless you have something else to fall back on.”

Kurt nodded. It made sense to him.

“In addition to that,” Bradshaw added, “the shipment of mining equipment we intercepted was some of the latest self-contained, oceangoing gear available. It’s designed for use in the most hazardous environments and the worst weather. We plucked it off a freighter that left Perth and was officially bound for Cape Town, but the ship’s track was southbound, toward Antarctic waters, not west to South Africa.”

“There’s no accounting for bad navigation these days,” Kurt joked. “Where do you think they were headed?”

“We think Thero is hiding on the Antarctic shelf.”

“Thero?”

“The leader of this mess.”

Kurt pulled up a chair, swung it around, and sat down with his arms resting on the back, leaning toward Bradshaw. He considered what the man was asking. His own curiosity spurred him on, but there were bigger issues.

“NUMA is not exactly a law enforcement agency. Maybe you want to contact Interpol.”

“And wait six months for the paperwork to clear?”

Bradshaw shook his head in answer to his own question. “Besides,” he added, “this is a science problem as much as it is a terrorist threat. From what I’ve heard, you NUMA guys seem to specialize in that combination. And if they’re using the ocean as cover… well, that’s right up your alley, isn’t it?”

Kurt nodded. “It is.”

“Then let me pass the baton.”

“It’s not my call,” Kurt explained. “All this… our involvement… It was just me being an idiot, like you said. But if we’re going to involve NUMA officially, I have to run it up the flagpole. I can’t promise you anything. But from what you’ve told me, I think our Director will see it your way.”

“Pitt?” Bradshaw said. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Sounds like a good man.”

“The best,” Kurt said. “But before I go to him, I have to know exactly what we’re dealing with. What are these people up to? Who is this guy Thero and what does he want?”

Bradshaw didn’t hesitate. He’d brought Kurt here to talk and he was ready. “Have you ever heard of zero-point energy?”

Truth was, Kurt hadn’t. At least not until he’d done the Internet search on Hayley Anderson.

“I saw the term on a scientific paper,” he admitted. “Can’t say I read more than a paragraph or two, but it sounded like some type of power source.”

“I won’t pretend to understand the physics,” Bradshaw said, “but the concept involves drawing energy from background fields that are supposedly all around us. As the theory goes, tapping into these fields would provide an unlimited and inexhaustible source of energy for the whole world, one that would cost almost nothing to use and distribute.”

“Sounds like a pipe dream,” Kurt said.

“Maybe it is,” Bradshaw said. “Who knows? But this group we’re dealing with believes in it. They claim they’ve unlocked its secret.”

Bully for them, Kurt thought. “How does that turn into what we saw today? If free energy is all about peace, love, and kilowatts, why are people getting shot and blown up?”

Bradshaw coughed and winced in pain. “I’ll give you a file with everything we thinkwe know, but here’s the short version. As I told you, it starts with a guy named Thero, Maxmillian Thero. He’s an American, actually. A nuclear engineer by trade and a self-taught physicist. He spent eight years in your navy, working on submarines and aircraft carriers. He was discharged in 1978 and began work at Three Mile Island a few months before the meltdown in 1979.”