The Doomsday Box Read online

  Like I had about you and me? Danny was opening his mouth to ask her what all that meant when Opal said, “I’m back.”

  Chapter 8

  Michael, Underground at Montauk

  Michael’s eyes snapped open and he looked around. His mind was fuzzy from the anchor dream—as often happened, he’d found himself back with the Dogon in his native Mali—but he still realized there was something wrong. Danny and Mr. Carradine were kneeling beside Fuchsia, who was sitting on the floor for some reason. Michael turned his head quickly to see if Opal was all right and found her calmly unfastening her helmet. She gave him a little smile.

  “Tu vas bien?” he asked her quietly, then realized he’d reverted to his native French and translated, “You okay?”

  Opal set the helmet down and combed her hair with her fingers. “I’m fine. Little bit of trouble with the projection, but I worked it out eventually.” She glanced across at the others. “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Michael said. He started to remove his helmet.

  Mr. Carradine was climbing to his feet. He offered a hand to Fuchsia, who took it and stood up too, a little unsteadily. Carradine called over his shoulder to Opal, “Any problems?”

  “I was in the dark for a time,” Opal said. “I undershot the target—I think the coordinates the colonel gave us must have been a little off.”

  “No, it was an equipment problem,” Fuchsia said.

  Danny, who was on his feet now too, glanced at her quickly. “How do you know?”

  “The battery pack is underpowered,” Fuchsia murmured, as if that explained how she knew.

  Carradine asked Opal, “What happened?”

  Opal shrugged. “I got confused. I came out-of-body and into the concrete they used to seal off the chamber rather than the time-tunnel chamber itself. There’s no point of reference when that happens, so I wasn’t sure of the direction.”

  “Did you swim?”

  She nodded. “I managed to go downward, unfortunately.” She gave a small smile. “But I realized I was wrong before I reached the center of the Earth. So I reversed direction and eventually came up in one of the offices. Once I was oriented, I was able to refocus on Michael and the rest of you.”

  “So you just came back to your body?” Carradine sounded disappointed.

  But Opal shook her head. “No. I came back here all right, but then I tried a direct line to the target chamber straight through the plug. Which worked.” She looked smug.

  “Well done!” Carradine exclaimed. He glanced around. “Can’t debrief you without the colonel. What the hell’s keeping him?”

  “Where’s he gone?” Opal frowned.

  Danny said, “Went to get a doctor. He thought Fuchsia was sick. She’s an operational precog.”

  Michael frowned. “What’s an operational precog?”

  “Somebody who can see into the future, according to Mr. Carradine,” Danny told him. They all turned in Carradine’s direction.

  Carradine laughed. “All right, all right, I’ll fill you in. What—” He stopped. Running footsteps were sounding in the tunnel, and in a moment Colonel Saltzman appeared, accompanied by a young officer in Medical Corps uniform. “Later,” Carradine finished hurriedly.

  The young officer zeroed in on Fuchsia after a nod from his colonel. “Colonel says you’re feeling poorly, miss?”

  “I’m fine,” Fuchsia insisted. “Are you going to take my blood pressure?”

  In fact, the doctor did take her blood pressure, examine her eyes, and sound her chest with a stethoscope. “She seems okay now,” he said to the colonel.

  “Told you,” Fuchsia said.

  They waited until the doctor left, then Carradine said, “Opal made it to the target chamber, Colonel.”

  “You really can tell me what’s in there? What set the alarm off?” He still sounded doubtful.

  Opal shrugged slightly. “Nothing, so far as I can see.”

  They looked at her blankly.

  “The rift—the time tunnel or whatever you want to call it—is still there. I could see it quite plainly.” She shuddered involuntarily. “It’s very peculiar to look at when you’re in your second body.”

  “And while you’re in your first one,” Carradine murmured. Michael glanced across at him. He kept wondering if Mr. Carradine had been associated with the original Project Rainbow.

  “The good news,” Opal said, “is that there’s nothing nasty in there. I looked very carefully—there’s really nowhere to hide.”

  “So what set off the alarm, little lady?” the colonel asked. “Or was it just a glitch in the system?”

  “I think it must have been,” Opal told him. “Maybe it was the vibration of the drill. But anyway, there’s nothing in the chamber that shouldn’t be there.”

  “So it’s safe for us to open it up again?”

  Opal said carefully, “I can’t give you guarantees, but I could see no problem.”

  The colonel gave a relieved smile. “Okay, that’ll have to be good enough for me.” He turned away from her. “Mr. Carradine, looks like we’re going in.”

  Chapter 9

  Michael, the Montauk Carlton, Montauk

  The breakfast room was empty of guests when Michael came down, and empty of staff too as far as he could see, but there was a table set for five with Mr. Carradine’s name tag leaning on a tiny jar of marmalade, so he took one of the places and waited patiently. There were bowls of cereal and fruit set out on a table to one side, but he thought it best to wait. Mr. Carradine had booked them all into one of the more anonymous hotels in Montauk, and the others should be down soon.

  His thumb made a circling movement of its own accord.

  Michael watched it happen and felt a sudden chill. The silence in the breakfast room grew louder, and beyond it he could hear intrusive traffic noises from the street outside. He could hear his own breathing. He could hear the steady pulse of blood within his veins. He became aware of the smell of raw sausages, drifting from the refrigerator in some distant kitchen. He could smell tomatoes and the musty scent of mushrooms and bacon and milk in an open carton and a farmyard hint of eggs.

  He needed to get back to his room.

  Time slowed as Michael began to push his chair away from the table—it made a hideous scraping noise on the wooden floor—so that he watched the waitress bustle over in a series of strobelike jumps. “Hi, honey,” she said cheerfully, her voice reverberating through his head. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She handed him a laminated menu, and his nerveless fingers dropped it on the table with the sound of a felled tree.

  “Have to get something from my room,” Michael muttered. He tried to push past her.

  She gave him a big smile. “Your friends are on their way down,” she told him.

  In fact his friends were in the corridor outside. He could smell Mr. Carradine’s aftershave. He could hear a conversation about jazz between Opal and Danny. They were coming through the door in a tight little group with Mr. Carradine in the lead. Time was distorting like mad now, and when he looked at Opal he could hear her heartbeat. It grew faster when she saw him. Michael pushed the waitress rudely aside and strode across the room. The floor felt spongy underneath his feet.

  “Michael,” Opal called out brightly, “we’re not going home today. Mr. Carradine has arranged for us to stay on so we can watch the chamber being opened.” She sounded pleased.

  Michael said, “Getting something from my room.” He tried to smile.

  Mr. Carradine said, “Are you okay, Michael?”

  “Fine,” Michael told him. It came out something close to a gasp. He kept moving with a purposeful stride, and to his relief they parted to let him through.

  “Have you had breakfast?” Opal called after him, but he ignored her.

  He thought there might be a problem with the stairs, but he almost floated up them. By the time he reached the corridor that led to his room, he was running, with the walls pulsating in time to each step. He r
eached his door and fumbled for the key card. The room next door was empty, but he could hear what was going on in a room along the corridor: a bitter argument between a husband and wife over some item of jewelry she’d bought. From another room he could hear snoring. In another he could smell the lavatory cleaner as a maid prepared a bathroom. His hand was shaking so badly he couldn’t insert the card. He closed his eyes to a maelstrom of whirling colors, opened them, and tried again.

  The card slid into the slot. He pulled it out, carefully, and listened to an electronic symphony as the little red light turned to green. He pressed the handle and pushed the door.

  His consciousness expanded to take in part of the town. There was a heavy-metal beat coming from a building down the road.

  Michael’s eyes rolled back as he slid to the floor, then closed as he reached it. His body began to twitch, then shake, then convulse violently. A moan escaped his lips, but Michael did not hear it. His head began to pound against the carpet with dull, sickly thuds, in perfect time to the rock music playing in the distant building.

  Chapter 10

  Fuchsia, Underground at Montauk

  It was almost impossible to hear above the noise of the auger, which screeched, rattled, shook, and boomed like constant thunder, so Fuchsia ignored the shouted conversations and entertained herself by surreptitiously watching Danny. He wasn’t a conventionally handsome boy—Michael was far better-looking—but he had nice eyes and a cheeky grin. Fuchsia sneezed. There was a lot of dust in the tunnel and it tickled her sinuses. She pulled a little handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed her nose, and looked around.

  Despite Opal’s all-clear, the nice colonel had brought in a small contingent of troops wearing battle gear and ear protectors, who were standing at ease just behind the head of the auger. The colonel himself was up in the cabin of the machine, beside the operator. Both were wearing hard hats and earmuffs. Danny was standing with Mr. Carradine well to the rear, where the sound was at a lower level. Opal and Michael were beside them, holding hands, which was sweet, although Michael looked a little off-color, Fuchsia thought, or maybe just tired or worried or something. Perhaps they’d had a fight and made up. Danny happened to glance in Fuchsia’s direction, and she gave him a smile and a little wave.

  The machine operator pulled a lever, and all the noise and vibration suddenly stopped, leaving Fuchsia with a ringing in her ears. The colonel climbed out of the cabin and dropped to the ground. He walked to his men and said something Fuchsia couldn’t hear, which caused them to fan out in a semicircle, rifles at the ready. Mr. Carradine moved to join him, leaving the others where they were. Fuchsia took a casual step or two forward, so she was standing beside Danny. “What do you think is happening?” she asked him.

  “Might be close to a breakthrough,” Danny told her.

  Mr. Carradine rejoined them. “I need you up front, Opal,” he announced. “They’re about to make the final thrust. The rest of you want to come too?”

  “Just try to stop us,” Michael said.

  “You’ll want these,” Mr. Carradine said, handing out military-style ear protectors. “Bad enough up here, but it gets really noisy down there. Put them on before the auger starts up again. Opal, I want you to confirm the chamber is still exactly as you saw it—probably will be, but no sense in taking chances. The rest of you”—he smiled—“you’re just along for the ride. Stand clear of the soldiers and try not to get in anybody’s way.”

  The earmuffs reduced the sound level, but even so, the noise was so extreme that Fuchsia knew she’d have to move away again if it went on much longer. But then there was a massive cracking sound and the colonel, now on the ground, was signaling to the auger driver. The great machine reversed and rumbled slowly backward. It moved a long way up the tunnel, then cut its engine again. Fuchsia stared.

  The auger had broken through one complete wall of the buried chamber. Despite the damage, the electricity supply still functioned and there were strip lights glowing from the ceiling inside. The chamber contained banks of computerized machinery, much of it very old-fashioned in design. Thick cables snaked toward two enormous upright metal slabs, each close on six feet thick, that ran from floor to ceiling. Between them—

  Fuchsia suddenly felt sick. Between them was something that should not have existed, a roiling, pulsing nothingness, blacker than black, deeper than the universe and utterly, completely alien. She was looking at the rift in space-time, torn open by the metal slabs that had to be Project Rainbow’s giant magnets. Her sole reaction was naked fear. She could not for an instant imagine how anyone would voluntarily enter that hideous space between the slabs. Yet she was certain Rainbow operatives must have done so in the course of their experiments . . . and probably would again, now that the chamber was reopened. It was a terrifying thought.

  “Wow!” exclaimed a voice beside her. Danny.

  Fuchsia fought down the urge to vomit and, with a massive effort, dragged her gaze away from the rift. She found she was shaking and took deep yoga breaths to steady herself. Beside her, Danny, Opal, Michael, the colonel, and Mr. Carradine were all staring, entranced, at the rift.

  “So this is it, Mr. Carradine,” the colonel said.

  Carradine nodded.

  “I’m supposed to check that the machinery is still working.”

  “Then you’d better do so, Colonel,” Carradine said.

  The colonel sniffed. “Thought you might like to do that for me, seeing as . . .” He let the sentence trail.

  Carradine shrugged. “Okay.” He walked over to the banks of equipment that flanked the rift itself and began to throw a sequence of switches. A humming sound filled the chamber, and a series of dials lit up.

  He’s done this before, Fuchsia thought.

  “Seems to be running normally,” Carradine murmured.

  Fuchsia caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to find the rift had changed texture and was glowing slightly. On the floor between the magnetic pillars was a small plastic box that she was certain hadn’t been there before.

  The colonel must have spotted it as well, for he muttered, “Where the heck did that come from?” and strode across to pick it up.

  “The Cobra!” Carradine whispered, so softly that only Fuchsia could have heard him. “Colonel—” he called anxiously.

  The colonel picked up the box.

  “—don’t open—”

  But the colonel was already flicking back the lid. He peered inside and frowned. “Glass vials with some sort of liquid. Three of them are broken.” He reached in and took out a vial for inspection. “Looks like a urine sample.” He glanced across at Carradine. “Did they have some sort of lab down here?”

  Carradine said quietly, “Put it back, Colonel, and close the box. Now.”

  The colonel stared at him in surprise for a moment, then said, “Right.” He put the vial back and clicked the lid shut. “Best get this to the science boys up top.”

  For some reason Fuchsia found herself thinking about the Greek myth of Pandora, who opened a box and released all the evils of the world.

  Chapter 11

  Opal, the Montauk Carlton, Montauk

  Opal awoke with a start.

  For a long moment she couldn’t work out where she was. The room was gloomy, but far from dark—a neon sign outside one window managed to throw a wash of color across the walls despite the curtains. Beyond the foot of her bed, she could see the outline of a television set looming over its own red standby light. Then she remembered: she was in the Montauk Carlton. She turned her head to confirm this and gasped in sudden panic. The space between her bed and the door was filled with alien white figures. Opal opened her mouth to scream.

  “Miss Harrington,” said the closest figure, and the only thing that stopped Opal from actually screaming was the fact that it was a woman’s voice. “Miss Harrington, are you awake?”

  Opal sat bolt upright, holding the bedclothes to her throat. She was wearing only a short silk nigh
tgown and felt extremely vulnerable. “Who are you? What do you want?” A hint of antiseptic wafted into her nostrils.

  “Miss Harrington, you need to come with us. You have to get dressed at once.”

  “Who are you?” Opal repeated. She reached out and switched on her bedside lamp.

  The woman was wearing a white suit of plastic material and some sort of headpiece that covered the whole of her face. Her eyes bored into Opal through transparent goggles. Three other suited figures—men to judge by their size—stood between her and the door. “We’re from the Project,” the woman said urgently. “Please, Miss Harrington, you must come with us at once. Have you had close contact with anyone since you left Colonel Saltzman? Anyone in the hotel?”

  Frowning, Opal shook her head. “No, I came straight up to my room. What’s going on?”

  “We can discuss that on the way. We’ve alerted your father. Now can—”

  “My father? What’s my father got to do with it?”

  But the woman and her companions were already pushing out of the room. “We’ll give you privacy to get dressed,” she said, “and talk on the way.”

  Opal stared for a moment at the closed door, then got up and headed for the wardrobe. A feeling of dread had settled in her stomach.

  As she stepped from the room, they surrounded her and escorted her to the elevator, where another white-suited figure was holding the door. Opal had only the barest impression of the hotel lobby as she was ushered through to startled glances from staff and guests. There was an ambulance on the street outside. Opal stopped dead. “What’s this? I’m not sick.” But strong hands gripped her arms and she was frog-marched into the waiting vehicle. The woman and two of her companions climbed in with her.

  As the ambulance pulled away, Opal looked from one silent figure to another and fought to keep calm. Eventually she said in her coldest voice, “This has gone far enough. If you want me to cooperate, you will have to tell me what is going on. Otherwise”—she fished her cell phone from her pocket and flicked it open—“I shall place a call to Colonel Saltzman and demand—”