After nearly twenty-two and a half hours in the air, and 312, 000 pounds of aviation fuel lighter, the ten landing wheels of Maverick’s Menace made contact on the runway of the unidentified island. The brakes locked and the tires gripped the blacktop sending a dark cloud of burnt tires into the surrounding air as the monstrous aircraft slowed to a final stop no more than a hundred yards from the end of the small runway.
Maverick applied the park brake and unclipped his seatbelt. “All right, Davidson. We’re on the ground. Let’s work out what we’re going to do about that bomb.”
Maverick gritted his teeth and used his shoulder to help his men slide the crate free of the fuselage. It slid down the grated steel ramp along a series of wheels and the momentum carried the heavy bomb nearly twenty feet along the runway. He stepped down the ramp and on to the runway’s blacktop — only it wasn’t blacktop. He grinned at the surprise finding and pressed his hand against the runway. It was smooth. Almost glassy like obsidian or polished ebony and despite the icy cold ambient temperature the stone was warm, bordering on hot to touch.
“What the heck is it?” Davidson asked.
“I have no idea,” Maverick replied.
His men worked quickly with electric screwdrivers to remove the bomb’s safety panels. Wakefield, his weapons systems operator, was the only one on board who might have a clue what he was looking at on the inside of the nuclear bomb. It was a far stretch to imagine he would be capable of disarming it, but so was finding a safe landing spot at the precise time the fuel ran out.
It was the first step, and a long way off saving their lives. Unless they could disarm the bomb in the next three hours they were all going to die. There was nowhere on the island that would keep them safe from its blast.
Maverick smiled. Today was a day of miracles. He sat down on the warm runway and simply looked at the island. The warmth made him feel safe for the first time in the past 24 hours since he was introduced to Mr. Avery and this bizarre mission.
The sensation was short lived.
Maverick stood up and swore loudly. It was the first time he showed his men he’d lost control. He didn’t care. It was over and he and his men had lost. He walked over towards the bomb. “You can stop working on the bomb, Wakefield.”
“What on earth you mean?” Wakefield laughed uncomfortably. “I have less than three hours to disarm this thing and I don’t have a clue where to start.”
“It doesn’t matter. I think I just worked out exactly where we are, and whether you disarm that bomb or not won’t change a thing.”
“Why?” Rigby asked. “Where are we?”
“Wait here and I’ll show you.” Maverick climbed back into the cockpit, and returned less than a minute later with a cup and bottle. He carefully poured the contents of the bottle into the mug. It was a dark, rich, coffee. He filled it until the contents formed a narrow film on the surface. “Look at that.”
It was perfectly still.
“What is it? I don’t see anything, sir?” Wakefield asked.
“Just watch.”
A slight tremor caused the liquid to move.
He waited slightly longer.
A second ripple formed. This one was slightly larger.
Davidson was the first to realize the significance. “I don’t believe it! Of all the shitty luck — we had to pick this island to land!”
“What is it?” Rigby asked. “Where are we, sir?”
Reynolds was the next to fathom the depth of their desperate situation. He was the first to accept his fate with equanimity. He had survived ten years as a pilot during the war. Even if it was a cold war so far, he knew that he’d been living on borrowed time. He’d flown more than four hundred missions without significant incident. It was simply his time to lose. “We’re never going to be allowed to go home, are we?”
“No, son. I’m afraid this is it. On behalf of the President himself, who spoke to me before we left — I thank you all for your service.”
Rigby was the last to understand. At nineteen years of age he was by far the youngest man on board. His face shriveled in abject horror as understanding finally reached his simple mind.
“We’re on The Island, aren’t we?”
Maverick felt at peace. At least he finally knew what this was all about. Why it had been kept secret to them all. He didn’t even condemn the President for doing so. He just wished he’d had a chance to speak to his kid sister once more and see his niece Alexis, who he’d been told was going to do great things for the world one day.
He then spoke with the calm, reassuring authority of a man who’d spent the greater portion of his time on earth in command. “Yes, son, I’m afraid we’re on The Island.”
Chapter One
Her whole body ached as she rolled over and looked at the bedside clock. It was 10:35 a.m. and still there was no sign of them. They normally came in at 8 a.m. on the dot every morning to check in on her and insist she try to eat and drink something. She was feeling better and thought maybe today she would try getting up and leaving her room — if they let her.
Quarantine was a big issue on a cruise ship. And any incidence of gastro meant passengers forfeited their right to leave their stateroom. She picked up the phone and pressed nine. No answer. The Indonesian service staff on board the Antarctic Solace had the highest ratio of staff to passengers of any cruise ship on the ocean. They were always attentive to her every need. She checked the number. Tried again. Still nothing.
Perhaps I’m ringing an old number?
She tried the Beauty Therapy, followed by the team from Fine Dinning reservations. Their prices were so extravagant they could afford to offer twenty-four-hour service. Still no response. Maybe there’s a fault with the internal phone system. She waited some more and then tried again, before deciding it was time to get out of bed anyway. She was feeling better. Not well, but better.
She’d already missed the first three days of her voyage by being confined to her stateroom. It was nice, but even the best prison can become torture. In this case, one she’d paid big dollars to enjoy. She rolled onto her side. One long, and slow movement. She’d spent nearly three straight days in bed, and now everything was sore. Then, in another single movement she slipped her legs out from under the blankets. Her whole body felt cold. She took four steps to the door of the ensuite bathroom, stepped inside and turned the shower faucet to hot.
Steam began rising from the shower. Confident it was warm enough, she undressed and stepped inside. As the water warmed her body, she felt like she might pass out. She sat down in the shower and the feeling slowly went away. For three days she’d had nothing to eat and barely anything to drink. Once the seasickness had dissipated she just wasn’t interested in trying any food again.
After about ten minutes, she reluctantly turned the shower faucet to off. Closing her eyes for a moment, she waited while the last of the hot water ran down her back, and then stepped out. Her ordinarily white skin, pale from years of work with limited natural light, appeared red and angry; having run the shower as hot as she could withstand.
Alexis Schultz stared at herself in the mirror. Her intelligent emerald green eyes stared right back at her with scientific accusation.
How in the world did I end up in this fucking mess?
Her otherwise perfect life had taken a stunning series of downward turns over the past five days, culminating in her present situation — three days of being sea sick and quarantined to her honeymoon suite aboard the overpriced cruise ship, the Antarctic Solace.