The half-mile of hole drilled through the rock seemed to pass quicker this time. Perhaps Stone had more on his mind. He’d left Virginia at the top of the shaft operating the winding gear. Semyonov was out there too in his wheelchair, plastic oxygen tubes peeking into his nostrils. In truth he was looking better than he had since Stone had met him on the island. Probably the mountain air.
It was a calculated risk to leave them up there. If Ying Ning was the killer on the loose, she was working for the Chinese government, who’d done everything up to now to look after Semyonov as a strategic investment. In theory she should be no threat — to Semyonov at least. Ethan Eric Stone, however, could well be alongside Doug Carslake on her wanted list. Not a lot he could do about that right now, short of telling Virginia to look out for Chinese girls carrying cheese wires. As for protecting himself, Stone couldn’t go near the Machine with anything like a blade or a gun, even if he chose to.
Stone turned off his helmet flashlight and crept first in the opposite way down the tunnel away from the Machine. Semyonov had said there was a network of old tunnels down there, and it was as well to look for a refuge, or an escape route. Also to check there was no one lurking in his rear as he went towards the Machine. He came upon two forks in the first two hundred metres, then thought better of it. He couldn’t risk getting lost. He walked back along, past the cage waiting for him at the same point in the tunnel, then crept on silently in the direction of the Machine.
It seemed quicker this time. He’d only just arrived at the incline and the electrical humming was quite loud already. There was the familiar freezing mist on the slope already. Something wasn’t right. It was like the Machine had been moved nearer to the shaft.
Stone edged up the side of the incline, stooping, hugging the ironstone side of the tunnel, feel the bubbles and nobbles in the meteorite rock. The freezing mist, vapour wisps of liquid nitrogen flicked his skin, like an arrogant icy finger drawn down the nape of his neck. He hadn’t had this earlier, not on the slope. Now it was as if the clouds and tendrils of vapour were tumbling slowly downwards to enfold him, to surround him and suck him in. It was deathly cold once more.
Sheeeeeeee-Hshaaaaawww.
Stone heard his own breathing in the mask. Slowing down. His heart was a slow steady bass line. Stone’s subconscious mind was readying him for action once more. Probably nothing again, like the telephone.
Then a short, sharp, slithering sound a few metres away — the thick power cable, as thick as a man’s arm, sliding across the ground. Followed by a lurching sound. Someone was moving the Machine — toward the slope. Stone slipped faster up the side of the slope. He’d get up there, get level with it. But he must stay hidden in the mist.
Sheeeeeeee-Hshaaaaawww.
The buzzing was louder, and the blue lights were there on the Machine, but still shrouded in mist. It hadn’t been powered down. Whoever was moving it must be dragging the heavy power cable too. Stone edged forward, almost abreast of the Machine. He could make out the shape of the cylinder, and the fragments of ironstone covering it. There was something else stuck to the side. He leaned forward slightly into the mist.
Sheeeeeeee-Hshaaaaawww.
Thump! On the back of the helmet. A roundhouse kick had just removed his hard hat. He knew what was next, and crouched forward and down. Two lightning high kicks went over his head, swirling the mist into tiny eddies. But Stone was low. The dark figure emerged, as Stone pushed from his haunches and hit him in the midriff to put him on his back.
It didn’t work out. The man had crashed backwards into something, and managed to regain his footing.
Stone stayed low and wrenched off the breathing mask. The man had grabbed Stone’s hair and was trying to dash his head against a bony knee, but he’d have to do better than that.
‘Surprised to see me, Ethan Stone?’ Stone knew those high kicks, and that lean, hard midriff. The voice confirmed it. Ekstrom.
‘You’re losing your touch Ekstrom,’ said Stone. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t like surprises?’ Stone again used his legs. Grabbed Ekstrom by the thighs and pushed up, hoisting him into the air, crashing his head into the rock of the ceiling. Rocky flakes came away and thwacked onto the side of the Machine. Ekstrom crashed down onto the cylinder, knocking it backwards. It fell onto the low-loading platform of its transporter truck. Rolled forwards, but then stuck in place.
‘That’ll be your gun, Ekstrom, stuck to the side of the thing, stopping it rolling away. There. You knew it would come in useful.’
‘Not my weapon, Stone. Do you think I'd use that Chinese piece of shit,’ replied Ekstrom. Cool, in spite of everything.
Stone was above Ekstrom. He still had hold of him. Had him on his back. He was close to Ekstrom’s face, holding his arms back. It was close-in wrestling, ju-jitsu style. Ekstrom couldn’t strike, could barely move. Stone couldn’t strike either, but most opponents panic in this situation. They try to break out, or strike back. Usually they move their arms or twist their heads. It opens the neck to a choke position where they can be subdued. Even an attempt to get up would show the back of Ekstrom’s neck to Stone, and invite an arm bar across the throat.
But Ekstrom was not usual. He was no panicker. He talked. He liked to talk, Ekstrom. Usually about himself.
‘I heard the whole thing, Stone. Back in the hangar on the island, when I was helping Semyonov into those plastic underpants. I got your whole story about the Machine. It’s quite an invention isn’t it?’ he said with his accented English. ‘See what you can get by being nice to people? Zhang sent me in there to tend to the sick. Very useful being on Semyonov’s medical team.’
‘You got to wear a mask and a hairnet. You’d like that.’
Ekstrom was talking for a reason, not just to taunt. What was he up to? ‘Amazing what you get to hear, when you’re tending to Mr Semyonov. Quite an invention, that Machine,’ said Ekstrom with some relish. ‘How much do you think it will fetch to the highest bidder? America, China, Russia — they’ll all be ready to talk.’
What was he doing, spouting this bullshit? They were face-to-face, breath-to-breath, Stone with his arms pinning Ekstrom’s to his sides and his elbow poised over Ekstrom’s throat for when his chance came.
‘The Machine’s locked, Ekstrom. You won’t get a thing out of it.’
‘Of course. But the key is sitting in a wheelchair right above us. He’s an interesting man, Semyonov. Very motivated by one thing. He’ll do anything to see that his invention doesn’t go to waste. He’s already defected once. I don’t think loyalty is his strong point, Stone. Do you?’
Stone saw too late what Ekstrom was doing. He was distracting Stone while he edged into a stronger position. Stone tried to pull him back, but Ekstrom edged his shoulders over once more. He was almost there. Stone tried to pull Ekstrom’s whole body over with his knee, but he was too late. He was a good fighter, Ekstrom. Intelligent, completely cool. And a nice use of distraction. Ekstrom was nudging his shoulder under the cylinder of the Machine, lying on its side. Its weight of a hundred kilos was jammed only against Ekstrom’s gun. If the cylinder bumped over the gun it would roll away. Ekstrom’s shoulder nudged again. Stone’s arms were on Ekstrom’s. He was powerless to stop it. There it went. A hundred kilograms of cylinder rolled over the gun, and jumped off the end of the transporter, gathering speed, bumping over the gun as it rolled. The power cable ran after it and then — slam!
Pain screamed through Stone’s ankle as the transformer fell forward onto it, yanked over by the power cable. The ankle was broken for sure.
Ekstrom was out, standing right above Stone, half-visible in the freezing mist. Stone turned onto his back. It was a poor option, but the only option. Ekstrom had no weapon, and he would find it tough to engage a man lying horizontal. Broken ankle or not.
If he bent to try and throttle him, Stone would drag him back into the ju-jitsu, and Ekstrom had already lost out on that one. If Ekstrom tried to kick, Stone could grab him or throw him.
The Swede prowled around above him. ‘If you won’t fight, I guess I leave you here. I think I’ll win the race back to the shaft,’ he said. Which was true. It’s exactly what Ekstrom ought to do.
‘Without the Machine? OK. Good luck,’ said Stone. ‘Think about it Ekstrom. You need to power it down. Otherwise how do you get it in the cage? Or out? The magnets are too strong.’ Ekstrom said nothing. That only happened when he was nervous. ‘And forgive me for stating the obvious, but the power line ain’t gonna reach all the way to the surface. You need to power down, and you need t he sequence from me.’
‘OK,’ said Ekstrom, tensely. ‘A deal. You tell me how to power down, and I let you live.’
‘Come on, Ekstrom. That’s lame even for you.’ said Stone, smiling into the swelling, piercing pain of his ankle. He wondered if it was dislocated. ‘You’ll have to send me up in the cage. Then I’ll tell you how to do it by phone. After all, I’m not much use with this ankle.’
Stone didn’t expect that to work, but it might provoke some anger, which was a start.
‘I have a better idea,’ shouted Ekstrom, standing over him. ‘You like to get me angry. But you won’t like me when I’m angry!’ He wasn’t angry. He was still thinking, and he wanted to give Stone something to think about too. Ekstrom grabbed Stone by both ankles and dragged him from under the gear and off the transporter. Stone roared in pain. He wondered if he’d pass out. Stone needed to be cool, to think. But he couldn’t think, he couldn’t hear. He felt himself hauled through waves of pain towards the bottom of the slope. Ekstrom, stopped, smiled at him, and callously twisted the broken ankle over.
‘This is the point of most pain, I think. Anatomy 101.’
Stone roared again as the pain overwhelmed him. He knew what Ekstrom was doing, but couldn’t fight back. Ekstrom twisted him so Stone was lying on his front, then took a strap from his breathing set, tied Stone’s hands and left him lying on his back.
‘A good place I think,’ said Ekstrom. ‘Now, you will tell me how to power down the Machine. Otherwise I go up the hill, and I take the brake from the transport truck, which will roll down the hill, with all its load, and collide with the crown of your head.’ He tapped Stone on the top of the head. ‘Your skull is thick, for sure, Stone. But not thick enough. You are killed in a tragic accident. You see, Stone. I like accidents. Even Semyonov can’t object to accidents. He’s an honest man, Semyonov, but he is desperate for his Machine. He will work with anyone to get it out. Even you. And if you have an accident, he works with me. He won’t ask too many questions. About as many questions as he asked about Carslake’s death, I should think.’
Ekstrom was far too near to the truth for Stone’s liking. Semyonov was too sick for the luxury of a conscience. His Machine, his legacy, his monument — were all that mattered to him. Semyonov had discovered Oyang’s money grubbing and weapons trading. But done nothing, just escaped the hassle. He hadn’t given a crap about Carslake either.
‘Last chance, Stone,’ called Ekstrom calmly from the top of the slope. ‘You will be killed in an accident, and I will ask Semyonov how to proceed. He will tell me. You know he will.’ Stone was lying face down, looking straight up the slope. He could hear Ekstrom shoving the Machine upright, back up onto the truck, and pulling the transformer back into place next to the liquid nitrogen chiller unit. Any second now, the truck would come speeding out of the mist. Stone’s only hope was to some how slither out of the way using his good leg.
Ekstrom’s face appeared grinning out of the mist. He was bent over, like some kid on a home-made go-kart, trundling, whirring down the hill, picking up speed. The whirr became a deafening rattle of rimless wheels on the rocky tunnel floor. Stone was scrabbling on knee and chest to his right. Hands still tied behind his back. No hope. Pathetic. Ekstrom would just steer the truck at him, wherever he went. Stone looked at his short blond hair, and those white Swedish teeth in a childish grin of satisfaction.
The dead boom of a handgun. Shocking and familiar. A red gash appeared on Ekstrom’s head. About the length of a ball pen. Blood spattered over the roof of the tunnel and arced over Stone’s back. Ekstrom’s body tumbled limp over the front of the truck. Jamming the wheels of the truck. The truck slewed off, slammed into the wall. Ekstrom came to and slithered down the slope, shaking his head like he was concussed.
Semyonov’s Machine slid off the truck again, and the alien intelligence rolled pathetically past Stone to the bottom of the slope, like a trashcan falling from a dumpster. It stopped with a jerk, held again by the power line from the battery unit. It nestled by the first of the steel pit props. Ekstrom reached out his hands and crawled down towards it.