Extinction Event Max & Carla Series Book 1 by John Day - HTML preview

“Are you going to do business or not?” demanded Max as though the gun threat was normal behavior, Max slowly and blatantly pulled out the manila envelope in his pocket and removed the valuable contents. Barclay glanced at it, pulled over and examined the stamped envelope closely. It was the genuine article all right, he was sure of it.

Barclay put his gun away and said, “I will get the papers now, and we can get this over with.”

Max held open the empty manila envelope and let Barclay drop his stamped envelope in. Barclay watched as Max sealed the flap. Ten minutes later Barclay pulled into an abandoned warehouse.

Gal's team was not quite in place when the silver Mercedes had shot out from the parking space at the roadside, into the fast-flowing traffic. It was all so quick, they could not catch up. Max was now all on his own.

“I'll just go and get the papers,” said Barclay “they are hidden in the warehouse.”

He then grabbed the sealed manila envelope. Max snatched it back.

“Yes you do that,” he said, “and in the meantime I will hang on to this, it’s worth more to me than this Mercedes.” Max smiled defiantly as he made like he was prepared to tear up the precious envelope, rather than let Barclay win. Barclay glowered back.

Three minutes later Barclay returned with a large crumpled white envelope. Max took out the papers and looked through them. Satisfied they were OK he handed Barclay the manila envelope. He looked at it carefully, paused and then looked menacingly at Max. To Max's horror he slowly ripped the sealed end open. It would be just seconds now before the switch would be discovered. Barclay peered in and pulled out the document. Max lashed out at the killer, with a potentially stunning blow to Barclay’s face, glancing off his cheek and striking the side of his nose. Clutching the Professor’s papers Max leapt out of the car. In the confines of the car, Max's punch only slightly stunned Barclay but his eyes watered and his nose bled, causing him to be disorientated for several seconds.

Running towards the gloomy interior of the warehouse and keeping the massive support columns between himself and Barclay, it was several more seconds before four shots rang out. As he looked back, Max saw Barclay reach into the car, take out the contents of the manila envelope again and examine them. Moments later, Barclay became wildly animated. He slammed the car door shut so hard the car rocked. Then he tore off through the warehouse in pursuit of Max. No doubt about it, Barclay spotted the fake and was after him with revenge in mind.

Barclay knew the building, Max didn't and was cornered. There was a staircase ahead, so he ran for it and climbed two steps at the time. Several shots splintered wood either side of Max and one hit the heel of his shoe knocking him off balance. He fell up the flight on all fours and scrabbled up out of sight. There was no cover apart from the thick columns, and nowhere to hide on this floor, so up he went again. The top floor was the same as all the others; apart from leaping to his death from a window, the roof was the only other possibility.

Barclay knew Max was trapped and proceeded with caution, checking behind the columns as he went up each floor. The horizontal members of the steel roof trusses were about 2.4 meters from the floor, too high up to grasp. Max ran at the wall and up it, grasping the thin rusty horizontal metal and hauled himself up, under the corrugated iron roof covering. It would be only seconds before Barclay reached this floor and saw him in the open framework of the roof. Pushing up hard he dislodge part of a badly rusted through metal sheet, and crawled out onto the roof surface.

Several more shots rang out around him, Barclay was firing blind near the hole, he hoped to get lucky and wing or kill Max, but he missed.

Max looked around. On this side was a sheer drop to the yard below, so he scrambled up the slope to see what was on the other side. More shots, one grazed the inside of his thigh.

“Christ, he nearly shot my bollocks off,” hissed Max in pain.

Over the apex he went, and slid down the other side to the next roof of the adjacent building. Barclay had some difficulty getting up on the roof with the gun in his hand, but resumed the chase, confident he would soon catch up. The metal roof sheets were treacherous, paper-thin in most places, often just holes where they were rusted through. Max carefully picked his way until he reached the last slope. Cornered again! There was a sheer drop this time.

Max went back over the apex and pulled up the edges of a sheet until loose all around. He waited keeping low, and when he saw Barclay, he quickly and noisily slid over the apex again, confident Barclay would follow; and he did. At the last moment Max stood up in full view startling Barclay, and then ducked back down before he could fire. Barclay rushed forward up the slope. Halfway along the loosened sheet, it gave way and Barclay fell through, hitting a rotten area of the timber floor below. His weight punched right through and he continued down through another two floors, before impaling himself on scrap metal. Max peered down and watched Barclay slowly die.

He carefully made his way across the roof, down through the building and back to the car. He drove back to the embassy where Carla was pacing anxiously, outside. Tears of joy welled up in her blue eyes when she saw the shabby, blood stained figure hobbling towards her. She ran to him and hugged his neck, tears streaming down her face.

Max phoned Gal and met with the team back at the hotel, in their room. He explained to Tony Gal what had happened and handed the Organization’s papers to him.

Gal took the papers from Max and asked for the stamped envelope. Max reached into his pocket for it and discovered it was no longer there. Furiously he searched himself again and then red-faced he admitted that he must have lost it when scrabbling over the roof. Gal shrugged, “well, it was not ours to keep so thank you everyone for all your help, let’s go home.”

Gal phoned the embassy agent to warn him of the missing original. The agent said “I think I can avoid any internal inquiry, but I doubt Kay will be so lucky. Seems he went off with some girl without authorization and then suspiciously got one of the staff to check on the document. When it turns out to be a fake the question will be, did the member of staff take the original or, more likely, did Kay take it? The member of staff will probably confirm it was the fake when he looked, so Kay will take the fall because he was the only person to leave the embassy. When it gets back to the Russian Mafia that Barclay was found dead with a fake and no papers either, Kay will be dead within hours.”

Carla seemed to be the only one fully satisfied with the outcome. On the way back to their room, Max gently caressed her bottom. Through the thick fabric of her short skirt, her bottom felt less soft and yielding than usual. Smiling to himself, he said, “You have the cutest and most expensive little ass in the whole world. I bet it even has a stamp of approval on it somewhere.”

She gave her cheekiest grin, skipped away a few paces like an excited child and said, “Well, I know how much you like to lick it, why not lick the stamp as well?”

SPLIT MISSION.

The nine-o-clock morning sun streamed through the glass roof of the Atrium over Carla’s hideaway. Max and Carla meandered through the garden below talking idly, drinking freshly ground Columbian coffee and enjoying the exotic fragrance of the blooms being warmed by the sun.

Their peace and tranquility was pierced by the shrill tone of the telephone. Carla ran to take the call; it would invariably be for her. So far the week had been very quiet and secretly she was getting bored, she needed her fix of excitement.

“Good morning Carla,” Sam Leighton’s voice greeted her over the phone, “I have two assignments, one for each of you, both are urgent. Can you come at once?”

“Yes, of course Sam, see you in half an hour.” Carla knew the question was a polite way of issuing a command, neither of them actually had a choice if they wanted to continue working for The Organization.

“Max!” she called from the entrance hall, “We have to go! Maria! Got to dash I’m afraid, can you tidy up please, I won’t have time to do it.”

“Of course Miss Carla.”

There was deep mutual respect between the women. Maria loved to look after Carla and Max as much as she knew Carla needed her.

As usual, Carla drove to the mountain home of her late employer and mentor, The Duke. She had sold off her old Honda Prelude and bought the Duke’s silver Porsche for old times’ sake. She still missed him and sometimes when she was not under pressure, she would imagine that he was there in the car with her. That was easy to do when Max was with her; although nothing like the Duke, he had a tremendous calming effect on her, he was now her rock.

With a minute to spare, they knocked on Sam’s office door and entered as it instantly swung open. Sam motioned for them to be seated, and launched into the briefing.

MAX’S MISSION.

Sam said. “Let me deal with you first, Max.”

“We have a revolutionary new submarine called US1, short for Universal Submarine 1; not very imaginative, I agree. It is ready for its final trials, and I need you to go along as an observer for The Organization. You will need some training for the post as technical supervisor but it is, I assure you, just a watching brief. You will be away for about a month.”

Sam proceeded to outline the unique aspects of the new vessel and The Organization’s involvement in its development.

“The vessel is modular apart from the two ends, and the engine and control section, generally the middle part. Special hull sections can be added or removed, to lengthen or shorten it, or to deal with research or military applications, as necessary.

“The propulsion system design is unbelievably simple yet it can drive the vessel at about 60 knots while submerged.

“Imagine a hypodermic syringe filled with water and fitted with a piston that allows the water to pass by it on the return stroke. When the piston squeezes out the water, more is drawn in behind it.  Now the piston returns back up the syringe and is ready to squeeze out more water.

“This would produce a jerky form of propulsion. But, if a similar piston is introduced on the inlet side, one piston could be squeezing as the other is returning. It would be like two syringes fixed one in front of the other. This results in a continuous, smooth jet that is silent in operation. 

“The pistons are very large, about 2.4 meters in diameter and are powered by linear electric motors, so apart from the discs and their valve segments, there are no other moving parts.

“There are novel modifications to the original hull design to make it virtually silent, even at full speed. It is coated with a thick plastic material that mimics the skin of a shark. The fine surface indentations are rough to the touch, but at speed the water has no time to flow back into them and effectively, barely touches the coating at all. The very low drag and sleek shape reduce turbulence and therefore, noise.

“Sonar systems cannot detect it either; the ping is completely absorbed by the variable density coating.

“Another first is the incredible depth to which the vessel can go, for its size.

“Although US1 could theoretically operate un-manned, it is under manual control most of the time, and the results are compared with the automated system. So far the automatic system is behaving perfectly.

“One of our associate companies has developed a 3D vision system that detects the abundant, but low level, natural background radiation. It sees the emitted energy like a soft glow of light from the object's surface. The result is a 360 degree display for the pilot, of everything around the submarine, as if the hull were a glass ball and the water crystal clear. It’s truly awesome!”

Max was impressed, but could not figure out what part he could play with this technical marvel.

“What am I particularly looking out for Sam?”

“The various contributors to the manufacture of the vessel have a vested interest in hiding any defects or shortfall in the design, leaving us to pay for something that does not work. We need to know about any issues, before we pay up. Remember, we are not buying a guaranteed household item here; we cannot return it for a refund if it doesn’t work as specified. This is a $3billion piece of prototype machinery.

“With a good understanding of the broad technical capability and its systems, you will know if something is failing to perform. You will be our secret eyes and ears.”

“Fine, I understand now. I assume I will get suitable training, before I join the trial crew?”

“Yes, that is why you will be away for a month. Remember, your role as far as the trials go, is to act as a coordinator; the actual technicians will do all the clever stuff and automatically manage any technical issues. You are just there for the ride.

“Here are your detailed instructions, and air tickets.”

CARLA’S MISSION.

“Carla, your assignment is quite different. Senator Goodwin has asked me to find his daughter, Ingrid. She is about your age and inexplicably left her job as assistant to the head of geology, in Washington. It appears she has become emotionally involved with a young man who was running a drilling operation in South America.”

“Girls do that sort of thing all the time,” stated Carla rather indignantly. She didn’t like Sam’s mission already, she was not the private detective type and even worse, objected to his inference of being like Ingrid, and able to understand a silly emotional girl.

“There is more to this than meets the eye,” replied Sam firmly. “Through normal government channels, the Senator has discovered the drilling operation is both odd and cloaked in mystery. It’s odd because it has only drilled in one location, at a shallow depth, but an extremely large diameter hole. There appears to be no purpose to the procedure, no minerals are known to exist there, and none have been found. Further investigation has revealed the equipment is being leased, and no material or identifiable person or company, is funding the project.

“According to the Senator, it is entirely out of character for Ingrid to just up and leave like this, she loved her job and family; they are extremely close. She is a bit of an egg-head type by all accounts.

“The Senator has asked for our help, in case there is something politically damaging at the root of the affair, which would become public knowledge if say, the FBI or police were involved. Anyway, it is outside their jurisdiction and the local law enforcement is not interested. Either they are being paid off, or it is too domestic for them.

“A man called Mike Teal, a senior agent at the FBI, has been digging into the background of the drilling operation for the Senator. You both know him don’t you?” Sam grinned.

They both felt the tingle of anxiety and fear at the mention of his name. “Don’t worry about Teal,” assured Sam, “he did very well out of the Gregor affair. He was promoted and is held in high esteem with the President, no less. Teal knows he will drop from favor if the President hears that you two, and not Teal, were the key players. Anyway, rumor has it that his computer technician made a mistake with the bank account numbers, and all the money paid by the arms buyers disappeared without a trace.

“As you know, the poor technician died, and the computer was destroyed in the warehouse fire, so the truth died with him. I am sure Teal would hate to have the subject of the lost funds brought up again.”

Max and Carla looked at each other with relief at what Sam had just revealed. Their worries about the FBI coming after them melted away, but what the FBI would do about the arms payments going into a secret account belonging to Max & Carla, was another matter.

“We have booked you both on the same flight to Mexico City, and then you go your separate ways. Here are your detailed instructions, all the background we have on the case so far and your tickets, Carla.”

***

From Mexico City, Carla took another flight on to Minatitlan and then a taxi to her hotel. Using that as her base, she decided to hire a jeep for her journey out to the drilling site, from where she hoped to pick up Ingrid’s trail.

ABOARD THE US1.

Max was met by Ron Aldridge, the project coordinator for the team who designed and produced the submarine. The tall welsh man appeared to be rather laid back for someone with such awesome responsibility, but Max soon discovered this was just a front to cover his shyness with newcomers. With his team around him, he soon switched back to his normal self, intense and focused.

Max and Ron flew by Cessna, to a recently laid landing strip and by Land Rover from there to the sub base near Veracruz.

For the next three weeks, Max had little time to worry about Carla, but in the back of his mind there was always the fear for her safety. Somehow, she always managed to attract danger and excitement; still she always came out on top, so far at least.

At the US1 base, Max was introduced to the technical team and Captain Williams, who commanded the new vessel.

Max found the technical aspects of his role with the team extremely interesting; fortunately, he had no trouble absorbing the superficial detail of how things worked. Whereas each member of the on-board team was a specialist in his field, Max only had to consider the big picture.

Tomorrow was the big day. Military and civilian procurement personnel would be on board, along with two scientific advisors from the Presidential staff. They would all be looking to buy specialized versions of the sub for their own needs, so it was imperative that everything went smoothly.

Just as Sam had said, the vessel was extraordinary in so many ways. It was the sweeping aside of the traditional ideas of how to make a submarine, and use workable technology in an exciting new way.

The modular approach to hull design made the cost-savings of mass production a reality. The change between carrying ICBMs and collecting manganese nodules from the sea bed was mainly by switching sections of hull.

The potential for high speed and silent running was of considerable interest to the military.

Everyone was impressed by the control and navigation system. The designers claimed the sub could be run indefinitely, with no-one being aboard. Using the same sensor and visual information available to a crew, the system could go from place to place, or even patrol and observe, without human intervention. A very attractive proposition, but even the designers weren’t prepared to let it off the leash yet. Primary control remained manual and was compared with the automatic system recommendations.

***

On the day of the trial the team came on board at 8.00 am and the guests two hours later, casting off 30 minutes after that. Because the trials would take place over several days, luxurious cabin facilities had been installed.

Those familiar with the submarine were filled with pride, at the immense surge of smooth power, and the quiet, vibration-free hum of pumps, as the large vessel accelerated to open water in the Gulf of Mexico.

The guests were already amazed at the spaciousness inside the fly by wire US1, free of the tangle of pipes, levers and wheel valves found in conventional craft. Some even wondered if they were being conned and this was just a simulation.

SABOTAGE.

As required, the medical staff was also aboard; Doctor Tony Homer and his nurse assistant Kate Winslow routinely carried out their medical equipment checks. Doctor Homer also specialized in breathing gases and verified the readouts were within acceptable limits.

Two hours out, Kate had just left the cabin to fetch their coffee. Homer opened the drugs cupboard and extracted a large bottle of chloroform.

He clicked a few switches on the control panel and locked out the alarm sounder, and then went aft to the filter and air purification plant.

Releasing the spring catches to the last filter box, he took a deep breath and poured the chloroform into it. With the filter cover replaced, he moved briskly forward to a conduit cover plate outside the radio room. The whirring of the electric screwdriver lasted just five nail biting seconds; any second now, someone would see or hear him, and he would be caught.

A few more seconds and he disconnected the power supply cable to the radio room. All communication to the outside world was now lost.

Back in the medical cabin, Homer donned an oxygen mask and waited, sweating profusely and trembling, for ten agonizingly long minutes.

He then reset the purification system switches, but not the alarm; that would kick in automatically in five minutes anyway. Finally, he replaced the filter and bagged up the contaminated one in polythene. The air would be fresh again in ten minutes.

A quick search showed everyone else had succumbed to the anesthetic, and was out cold.

In the main control room, Homer shut down the power to the propulsion units, and the vessel drifted to a stop just 25 meters below the surface.

As the Doctor busied himself handcuffing the bodies to each other at convenient anchor points, way below him an ancient submarine approached.

HI-JACKED.

At the US1 base, the moment telemetry and communications were broken, everyone was at full alert. Satellite checks on the area would not be available for an hour or so, but reconnaissance aircraft were mobilized at once. The motionless US1, in the clear water, was soon spotted from the air and rescue vessels were quickly on their way.

At such a shallow depth, there would be no problem in achieving rescue, or towing the stricken craft back to dock if it couldn’t be repaired at sea.  The priority would be to tow the US1 away from the exceptionally deep basin, back to the shallow ledge several miles away. If for some reason US1 sank on the ledge, rescue would still be straightforward.

The circling aircraft constantly relayed back to base, the status of the motionless US1. The tugs would be on station in a matter of half an hour, and divers were about to be dropped from helicopters into the water, to investigate and set up new lines of communication.

Suddenly to everyone’s horror, a large explosion appeared under the hull of US1, and as the disturbed water settled, the vessel could be seen sinking slowly into the basin, a mile or so deep.

CARLA AND TEAL.

To Carla’s mind, tracing the girl was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack. The trail was probably cold by now if she and her boyfriend had moved on and made a life together.

The drilling site intrigued her though, from what she knew from her earlier mission in the African jungle, the project could not have been entirely speculative; the operation of drilling was far too expensive for that. A lot of research would have been done first. She also knew that a mystery is only a mystery to those without the right facts.

She thought it odd though, that Mike Teal had not come up with anything worthwhile.

As if her thoughts were his cue, the hotel phone rang. It was the man himself calling from the lobby; he wanted to come up and see her. She looked around the room again and, going with her initial assessment of the room, she insisted they met in the lobby.

Mike Teal chuckled inwardly; he had already familiarized himself with the hotel and knew he would have done the same had he been in her position.

They met in the center of the lobby. Carla saw the area was busy with people but poor on cover, if Mike Teal had helpers.

Teal only saw her! He could not explain why she had such a mesmerizing effect on him. He had thought about her constantly since their first meeting on the dock side.

He knew he had become infatuated with her, and did not want it to change. Yes, she was very attractive, he preferred blonds with long hair, though hers was short now. Her vivid blue eyes both shocked and captivated him; he was shocked by their intensity and felt she could read his very thoughts, and captivated by the way they could soften and warm once they had laid bare his innermost secrets.

She smiled as she walked towards him.

“So! What have you to say for yourself mister FBI man?”

“You have a nerve crossing my path, I should arrest you.” said Teal.

“Well” she countered “you could try and if you got that lucky, I am sure the president would understand  that the capture of Gregor’s  armament buyers was down to me; but hell, perhaps he wouldn’t, especially as you’re out of your jurisdiction.” Teal, winced inwardly at the taunt, but he knew she was right, best to let it drop.

“Let’s grab a drink.” suggested Teal, keen to kill the tension and enjoy every moment of her company.

They sat at the bar and the barman waited for their order.

“I will go with a large pineapple juice please Mike, and no ice.”

“Tequila Sunrise and a large pineapple juice, no ice, mochas gracias. I am here on a sort of holiday, courtesy of the senator. He wants me to help you find Ingrid, his daughter, unofficially of course, using the resources available to me. Where do you want to start, Carla?”

“I think if we uncover the facts about the drill site, it might reveal leads to where the girl is now. We will also know how to handle any potential political fallout before it hits the fan.”

“I suppose so,” said Teal thoughtfully, recalling the gist of his briefing; the missing girl was his focus, not the site. That might be why he had not found her so far.

SNOOPING.

“Shall we go out to the drill site now Carla? It’ll be almost dark when we arrive so it will give us better cover.”

She had already decided to do that, but let him think he was in control, for now.

“Good idea, the sooner the better.”

Under cover of darkness, they approached the drill site.

“That’s strange Mike, there is no drill rig.”

“It could only just have been cleared away; it was here a week ago.”

“I have never seen a building like that either, Mike. The dome shape is most odd and it sounds as though there is a very powerful generator running inside.”

“I think that low pitched roar, a kind of rumble, sounds like rotor blades or a giant fan?” Mike offered.

“That might be something to do with the flat top to the dome, perhaps it’s some sort of air intake.”

“May be there is a small helicopter inside; if so, it will either take off soon or shut down.”

However, nothing changed over the next half hour, so they moved in for a closer look. Circling around the tall fence enclosing the site, they found large double gates on the other side, allowing access to the compound within.

Unexpectedly a personnel door opened in the side of the dome and bright yellow light flooded out, causing them both to blink. A guard walked out lighting his cigarette and, because his eyes were unaccustomed to the darkness, he did not spot them as they dived for the sparse cover.

When the man slowly wandered around the dome, Carla and Mike crept away. They booked in at the hotel in the nearby village.

During dinner, Carla kept Mike’s focus on sifting the facts of the case and at the end of the evening, before he could turn the conversation to talk about her she suddenly got up from the table.

“Good night Mike, I have had a super evening with you, see you for breakfast at 7.00am.”

“Yes, of course Carla, it has been most enjoyable for me too, I understand. Sleep well.”

***

The following morning over an early breakfast Mike and Carla discussed what to do next.

By splitting up, they believed they could improve their chances of discovering more about the site, from the locals. That evening they would share what information they had gleaned and plan the next move.

Soon it became clear that the site raised more questions than ever. The locals said that after the 8m diameter hole had been cut into the bedrock, metal sections forming tubing to fit inside, were shipped in. Lorry loads of concrete were poured between tube and hole; then followed truckloads of machinery.

The drill rig was cleared away, and the excavated rock chippings were bulldozed into the hole.

During this time, the village was filled with workmen for a week assembling the machinery and building the dome. After that, most of the workmen appeared to have left, although the amount of food supplied to the site was about the same.

A young girl had been staying in the village all this time. From the description, it was almost certainly Ingrid.

There was no mention of a young man with her, although there were so many men, he probably went unnoticed.

The villagers noticed that anything shipped into the site now, came from well outside the village, so no more information was forthcoming. The only persons working there were the twelve armed guards doing eight hour shifts; they did not speak to anyone, except to shout warnings to keep away.

From Carla’s experience, such a large diameter hole implied the need to get something down it, like men and machinery; the metal lining supports that argument. The disappearing men and sustained food supply could indicate they are working at the bottom of the hole. However, everything that came out of the hole was poured back in. The volume of excavated material is always greater