Survivalist - 15.5 - Mid-Wake Page 6

  As he mused over these concerns, on another level of his consciousness he listened to the seemingly unguarded conversation of the Russian officers. “The woman,” Feyedorovitch said, “is very beautiful. But do you think, if they really are married, that she—”

  Kerenin’s voice sounded like the snap of an animal. “They must be more fully interrogated. In that process, many things may happen. To change the subject,” and his tone moderated as he evidently addressed the younger officer, “you have acted upon our transmission that was sent as soon as we surfaced?”

  Rourke logged away that detail. They had not yet developed some means of long-range transmission from ship to base. Perhaps only ship to ship, while still underwater. “All is in readiness, comrade major,” the younger officer answered.

  Rourke looked at Natalia, smiling with his mouth, feeling the tightness around his eyes.

  Kerenin started ahead again, along the dock, Rourke and Natalia following in behind Kerenin and the two other

  officers, the guards again flanking Rourke and Natalia, one behind them.

  Kerenin turned off from the docks and into what appeared to be a large tube. It was, Rourke realized, a tunnel. Everything here seemed to be prefabricated, modular. The tube was of some transparent material and, as they walked, Rourke could observe on both sides of the tube what appeared to be a similar lagoon, missing only the mists which enshrouded the outer limits of the larger one. The lagoon seemed alive with dome-eyed mini-subs like the one he had seen from the deck of the Soviet submarine in which he and Natalia had been brought here. The lagoons, he knew, would be kept at their level by air pressure exerted downward, the air trapped beneath the domes. Early types of diving bells had utilized such a system. But in the early diving bells, as the air was consumed the water level rose. To maintain an all-but-constant level for these lagoons here, air pressure would have to be kept constant. The need for the fleet became suddenly obvious—the mini-subs, the larger vessels. There was some other enemy. The Chinese had no ability to pursue the Russians who attacked them into the sea. No power on earth existed of which John Rourke knew that possessed the ability to threaten these Russians in their underwater complex. But the fleet … There was indeed some other enemy. Regardless of the material used for the construction of the protective dome or domes, the material would be vulnerable to destruction. And the pressure of the sea against the material would be almost incalculably great. The slightest crack could start it, a hole would seal the fate of all who resided here.

  The Soviet fleet—and perhaps what he saw here was only some small portion of it—would guard the perimeter of the complex against attackers.

  And, granted that assumptions were dangerous, it was likely that whoever these enemies of the Soviets were, they would be potential allies.

  They left the tube, into a still-larger tube, walkways on either side and vehicles—official, no doubt—parked along

  either curbside. Some type of electric cars, he thought idly, with gullwing doors.

  Rourke followed the younger officer beneath the door opening and inside, sitting in the rear seat, Natalia beside him, a guard on either side of them, the other guards on a rear facing jumpseat, Kerenin and the other two officers in the forward facing seat in the center, a single-seat cockpit at the left front. The gullwing on the curbside whooshed closed, the driver consulting what appeared to be a very interesting electronic instrument panel from Rourke’s limited sight position, then pulling away from the curb and into the “street.”

  The dreamlike experience after being shot with the Sty-20 had occurred within the coffin-like capsule, and although the capsule could easily be utilized for transporting injured personnel away from a land-based battlefield to a vessel beneath the sea, it was more likely that the capsules were utilized for prisoner transfer. He had heard the Chinese agent Han telling of the disappearance of some Chinese after the mysterious attacks. If the Soviet fleet were a defense against some other underwater power, the capsules might well be used for prisoner transport in this context as well.

  But did prisoners survive here? Were there potential allies here he could somehow make use of?

  The vehicle was definitely electric or something utilizing a system other than internal combustion. The ride was so smooth, he barely noticed that the vehicle had turned. To their right now was the sea, a portion of the dome perhaps fifty yards from the road surface, a greenway there with trees and shrubs growing in abundance. Flower beds. He noticed older women kneeling beside them, tending them. But the women all were dressed the same. Medium-blue tunics and medium-blue slacks, scarves of the same color tied over their hair. To the left, he noticed several younger persons, men and women, dressed almost identically, all in the blue, collarless tunics and slacks, the men wearing long-billed baseball caps, the women scarves. Beyond that walkway, another dome rose, and beyond its surface

  Rourke saw water. More vessels of the Soviet underwater fleet? Or something else?

  The vehicle turned again, three vast domes suddenly visible as the vehicle moved away from them—one central and two the same size or slightly smaller, clouds visible near the height of the central dome, which he could better observe.

  And now they were no longer inside a dome, but rather in a wide structure with a gently curved overhead and gently curved bulkheads, like the belly of a massive ship. The guard across which Rourke leaned to stare through the left-side Gullwing’s window section elbowed Rourke in the ribcage, and Rourke leaned back.

  He stared ahead now.

  Vehicles of all descriptions were parked beyond an energy barrier similar to that at the opening of the submarine’s brig, the vehicle slowing, Kerenin passing papers through a window beside him to the shorter of two blue-uniformed guards, these uniforms like his, only fitting less well and with different rank. Something else caught Rourke’s eye. Each of the guards was only armed with what appeared to be one of the Sty-20 pistols.

  He logged away this detail as well. Were conventional firearms not allowed inside the domes?

  The papers were returned, Kerenin casually but with style returning a salute. The vehicle started ahead, the energy barrier turned off, crackling slightly as it reactivated behind them, Rourke watching through the vehicle’s rear window.

  The vehicles he had seen parked were more easily identifiable now as the Gullwing glided past them. Armored personnel carriers, massive, flat, their wheels enormous, their color gray.

  More personnel in uniform moved about here, attending the vehicles or merely standing beside them engaged in conversation. At the end of this tunnel through which they now moved was another dome, Rourke squinting his eyes against the light as the Gullwing moved out beneath it.

  Tt was landsparwd Keaiitifnllv hpre structures risincr nut

  of tree-lined squares, rising several stories toward the height of the dome. There were smaller domes on either side, quadrants of their hemispheres just visible toward the edge of the tunnel which they had just left.

  The gull winged vehicle stopped beside a rounded curb abutting a horseshoe-shaped driveway. The doors opened on both sides this time and as Kerenin and the other two officers got out, Rourke was tugged toward the driver’s side door, Natalia toward the opposite door.

  Rourke stood in the light. It wasn’t sunshine, but felt warm to the skin. His eyes squinting against it now even more tightly, he looked “skyward,” the building before which the vehicle had parked a full ten stories high. There were a half-dozen other buildings beneath the dome, none so tall as this, all of them prefabricated in appearance, their color a neutral tan, but pleasing, perhaps because of the landscaping which set them off.

  The guard gestured toward the building, Rourke nodding toward him. It would have been easy enough to kill the man, but Natalia was on the other side of the vehicle. And where would they go, even if they could escape? Before escape could be considered, he had to know more.

  Rourke stepped onto the curb, Kerenin waiting there. Rourke wondered, sud
denly, why the balding interpreter had not been brought along. He licked his lips. Kerenin started toward the large glass-looking double doors which fronted the building. Over the doors, Rourke read the Cyrillic letters which formed the words “Command and General Staff Headquarters Pacific Soviet Socialist Republic.”

  Chapter Seven

  If the marble were a synthetic, it not only had the appearance of the real thing, but also the coldness of it. Rourke’s fingers moved away from the gray and black pillar.

  Kerenin alone conferred with the three men at the long, table-like desk at the far end of the vaulted room. Behind their seats there was mounted on the wall a familiar device—the hammer and sickle flag of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics with the initials CCCP in gold or some similar metal beneath it.

  Captain Feyedorovitch approached Rourke, his hands on his hips. He spoke in Russian, Rourke pretending to be uncomprehending. “I know that you understand me, and that you will not acknowledge that you do. I have seen a man just like you. He had your height, your coloring, your hair, even dressed similarly to you. A brother perhaps? He fought like no man I have ever seen. He was brave in the extreme. And because of that I will tell you this. Comrade Major Kerenin will have your woman, wife or not. That means that whatever befalls you, you will die in the last. Use this information for whatever value it may hold to you.” He turned and walked away.

  “Michael,” Rourke almost said aloud. His son. He closed his eyes for an instant. Despite Michael’s abilities, and Paul’s as well—despite anything, there would be no help coming. He opened his eyes.

  The guards were moving toward him and Natalia and Rourke waited. Thev arestured for them to move ahp.ad.

  toward Kerenin and the three seated men. Rourke moved ahead, his eyes focusing on each of the faces in turn. They all seemed piteously alike, dour-faced, balding, paunchy. All that was missing was for one of them to hold his hands over his eyes, the other his ears, the third his mouth. The heels of Rourke’s combat boots clicked on the marble or marble-like floor, Natalia’s boot heels clicking more loudly.

  Both of them stopped a yard or so before the triumvirate.

  A woman entered from the right, an officer dressed identically to her male counterparts, her hair nearly as short as theirs. She stood at attention. She was told to stand down and to translate both the remarks of the triumvirate and the remarks of the prisoners.

  Kerenin began to speak, the woman looking to Kerenin for the assent to translate. He nodded and she began the unnecessary exercise. “You are both charged with multiple counts of murder, espionage, and crimes of intent against the Soviet people. Since the evidence against you is so overwhelming, there is no purpose in entering a plea. Have you anything to say in your behalf?”

  Rourke stepped a pace forward. In German, the woman picking up the translation, he began, “My wife and I were walking along the beach. She went on ahead. She was set upon by soldiers under the command of this man. I came to her rescue when I heard sounds of battle. We were subdued, then kidnapped and taken aboard one of your vessels, where my wife and I were both subjected to threats of violence and forced to disrobe for unnecessary and demeaning searches of our persons. We are German citizens on a peaceful mission of exploration in search of remaining pockets of civilization following the great war between the Russian people and the people of America. We come in peace, seeking only knowledge. We were armed only for our own protection against whatever unknown dangers lay before us in our quest.”

  He stopped in order that the female officer serving as translator could catch up. He continued then. “We were

  both given intensive training in the means of self-defense and in various other skills needed for long-term survival. We encountered the Chinese, whom I presume to be your enemies. They had spoken of warriors raiding their cities, and I presume your people are of whom they spoke. We have no taste for warfare, my wife and I. We have come in peace. You are evidently possessed of great knowledge here. You are fortunate indeed. If you wish to make formal contact with the German people, we would be honored and the contact could serve to the mutual advantage of our peoples. If you do not, we ask only to be allowed to return to the surface, reunite with our few comrades, and continue our explorations in peace, someday returning to our loved ones in Germany, to our colleagues. You need have no fear that by some means any slight knowledge we may have obtained of your civilization here would eventually work to your undoing. No power on the surface of the earth could reach your homeland, nor certainly pose any threat to your homeland whatsoever. Please let us return to the surface in peace.” John Rourke fell silent.

  The man at the center of the triumvirate looked to Kerenin as the female officer completed her translation. The man spoke. “Comrade major—is it possible they are indeed whom they claim to be? Or are you convinced otherwise?”

  Kerenin cleared his throat. The female officer translated the triumvirate member’s remarks into German. Kerenin spoke now. “I am convinced, Comrade Chairman, that this man and woman lie. Based upon field intelligence reports of Captain Feyedorovitch, it would appear that several persons of the white race have allied themselves with our enemies, the Chinese. Their origin can be only one place. They can only be cleverly placed agents of our enemies at Mid-Wake, Comrade Chairman.”

  Rourke’s mind raced—Mid-wake? Mid-Wake?

  Kerenin, staring at Natalia, then at Rourke, declared, “They must be fully interrogated, Comrade Chairman. With your permission, I would personally wish to under

  take the task.”

  “Then take them away, major.” The three men of the triumvirate, as one, cast down their eyes to study the paperwork on their massive desk. There was no sound for a moment except that of Natalia sucking in her breath.

  Chapter Eight

  Rourke had attempted to resist as they were taken from the great marble hall, but a knife—his knife—had been placed at Natalia’s throat and he had submitted.

  They did not return to the artificial sunlight, but were taken down a long flight of stairs, the smell at the base of the stairs a mingling of dampness, sweat, and human fear. Rourke imagined the smell was maintained conscientiously.

  With a knife to Natalia’s throat, Rourke, still bound, was placed on an examining table, his wrists still bound. His legs were spread apart and his ankles were shackled to each side of the table, then the bindings at his wrists were cut and his arms shackled over his head, spread wide to the upper corners of the table, the table of immense proportions and of stainless steel or some similar substance. The female officer who had served as translator before the triumvirate had accompanied them, and her face seemed to be growing paler by the second. Kerenin spoke and she translated his words, expressionlessly. But Rourke watched Kerenin’s eyes.

  “Perhaps you believe that it will be possible to defeat the techniques we shall utilize. You will soon find that you are mistaken. In the interests of being humane, I shall warn you that resistance is futile. You will spare yourself considerable misery if you speak now.”

  Rourke focused his attention on remembering the way to say “Fuck you” in German. He heard Natalia’s voice. Her voice was higher-pitched than normally, but otherwise

  firm. “We know nothing that would interest you. We will be happy to answer any questions, major. It is just that you choose arbitrarily to believe that our answers are lies. Tbey are not.”

  They were, of course. And the lies they told were an integral part of the one faint hope Rourke clung to. That the torture session would be unrewarding to Kerenin and that he would think them incapable of further resistance and for one split second be sloppy enough that he—John Rourke—or Natalia could get to a weapon. And that meant surviving what would come next and clinging to the lies.

  Kerenin had apparently ignored Natalia’s remarks. He ordered her shackled to the second table. Rourke knew that Natalia’s pain would be the hardest pain he would have to endure—and for her, his pain.

  Rourke spoke once
more. “We can make up lies, major. But you will see through them. We have only one truth to tell. And we have told it to you.”

  Kerenin spoke, the female officer’s complection slightly green-tinged now. “I somehow feel that both of you have endured such as I offer now before. You believe. But you have never known pain or suffering such as the devices in this room are capable of inducing.” No drugs then, Rourke thought. That was a plus for being able to maintain the lie. To have revealed that he was American and that she was once a major in the KGB but had come over to the cause of freedom would have invited no less torture and possibly instant execution. To have revealed the war which raged on the surface between the democratic allies—New Germany in Argentina, the Icelandics, Eden Base in what had been the United States, and the Chinese, the current enemies of these Russians—and the Soviet forces under the command of Marshal Vladmir Karamotsov, Natalia’s husband, would only have precipitated the total destruction of the allies, the final suppression of freedom.

  Kerenin spoke once more. “We shall now begin. When you feel compelled by your own suffering or the suffering

  ofyour comrade to have the procedures brought to conclusion, all that is necessary is that you tell the truth.”

  Blocksof what appeared to be metal were brought to the table by one of the technicians who had been present in the sublevel chamber. The technician placed the blocks on either side of Rourke’s head, two of the guards holding Rourke’s head rigidly in their hands. At the far edge of his peripheral vision, he saw similar blocks being placed beside Natalia’s head. Switches were activated on the blocks, bands of steel or some similar substance rising out of each block, Rourke feeling their coldness against the skin of his temples and forehead. The blocks were moved, then another set of switches worked.