Below Zero

NOW

Inside his War Room, The Broker was struggling to stay calm.

The updated thermal satellite images showed no sign of anything remaining below the ice. Whatever those things were, they were now gone, along with most of Outpost Zero. The only remaining heat signatures came from the Storage building, the burning wreckage on the airstrip, and the remaining Osprey.

The loss of the aircraft was like pure acid in The Broker’s stomach. A dense core of white-hot anger. But it wasn’t the worst thing that had happened today.

There was something much worse than losing a couple of Ospreys: failure. More than anything, he hated failure.

The Broker tightened his hands into fists. His manicured fingernails dug into his palms and his knuckles turned white. He lowered his head and glared at the screens in front of him.

Some of the feeds coming in from the battle helmets worn by Lazarovich’s team were dead. The screens hissed and displayed a snowstorm of nothing. These were the pilot and the operatives who had died when the base fell into the darkness of the ice. They did not concern The Broker. He was more interested in the other feeds. In particular, he was watching the feed coming in from an operative identified as ‘Lewis’, because Lewis had a clear view of the remaining team.

In Lewis’s feed, The Broker could see the others on their knees in the snow. None of them was armed. None of them moved. None of them even turned their head; they simply knelt and stared at the Storage building.

The Broker tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Of what he had seen.

When Phoenix had first contacted him with the images of Outpost Zero, The Broker had expected something big. He had imagined vast pools of minerals that could be mined and sold. He imagined an archaeological discovery that would be worth millions. He imagined a new and powerful energy source. But what he had seen erupt from the ground beneath Outpost Zero was more strange and unusual than any of those things, and it had slipped out of his grasp.

He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, trying to soothe his rising anger.

Relax.

When his breathing was under control, he opened his eyes and focused on the feed coming in from Lazarovich’s helmet. The Reeves boy had told her to take it off, and she had done exactly as he instructed. It was now on the ice. The bottom part of the screen was obscured by a dusting of snow, but the rest of it showed him the remaining Osprey. Right now, the rotors were spinning as it prepared to take off.

It was uncanny, the way the Reeves boy had commanded Lazarovich. It was as if he had hypnotized her. The Broker had seen everything that happened – the battle, the rip in the ice, the collapse of Outpost Zero, the appearance of . . . what? What had come out of the ice? Some kind of swarm?

Whatever it was, it had touched the boy. Changed him somehow. The Broker couldn’t think of any other reason why Lazarovich was so firmly under the boy’s control. And he’d also seen what happened to the girl. Lazarovich had shot her dead, but she wasn’t dead any more; not after those things had worked their magic.

Watching the images coming in from Lazarovich’s battle helmet, The Broker saw the Osprey rise from the ground and lift out of view. He listened to the sound of the engines and imagined the aircraft climbing, turning and moving away. He waited until everything was silent, and continued to watch the operatives kneeling in the ice.

None of them moved.

With a sigh, The Broker pulled his smartphone towards him and touched his thumb to the recognition pad. When it lit up, he tapped an icon in the shape of a phoenix.

The phone rang once before Phoenix answered. ‘Sir.’

‘I can assume you saw everything?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ve been trying to contact the team. I have direct comms, but there’s no reply. It’s like they’re zombies. What did that boy do to them?’

‘I don’t know, but I want to find out. I want to talk to him. Track that aircraft. Find out where it goes.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And send someone to bring back Lazarovich. I can’t afford to see another one of my agents go rogue.’

‘Sir.’

The Broker didn’t wait for anything else. He cut off the call and stood up, allowing his fury to flare with a sharp, sudden explosion. It surged through him, uncontrollable and violent. He swatted the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug from the table beside him. There was a ting! when his wedding ring struck it, and the mug shot across the War Room. It slammed into the far wall and exploded into a hundred pieces.

Before the fragments of the mug hit the ground, The Broker grabbed the table from beside him, and launched it at the wall.

The table struck the centre screen with a loud crash! The screen dented in the middle, and a crack flared out in both directions, running diagonally from corner to corner. As soon as the table dropped to the floor, The Broker surged forward, kicking it out of his way. He grabbed the screen with both hands, and with one powerful wrench he tore it from the wall. He lifted it over his head and brought it down hard on the floor, over and over again until the screen came apart, components spilling out and scattering across the floor. He threw the carcass aside and grabbed another screen, about to rip it from the wall and—

Knock knock.

A gentle tap at the door.

The Broker stopped.

Knock knock. ‘Everything all right, Dad?’ A voice outside. His son.

Still holding the screen, The Broker turned to look at the door. ‘Yes, David, everything’s fine. I dropped my mug. Sorry – it’s the one you gave me for my birthday.’

‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Well, anyway, Mum says there’s coffee and cake if you want it.’

‘I’ll be there in a second.’ The Broker cleared his throat and let go of the screen. He dusted himself off and straightened his hair, taking a moment to calm himself before going to the door.

When he left the War Room, his son David was waiting outside.

‘You sure everything’s all right?’ David leant to one side, trying to look into the room.

‘Fine.’ The Broker closed the door. There was a click as it locked.

‘It’s just . . . I thought I heard—’

‘Everything’s good.’ The Broker ruffled his son’s hair and smiled. ‘Sorry about the mug.’

‘It’s all right,’ David said. ‘We’ll get you another one.’

‘That would be great.’ The Broker put his arm around his son as they strolled through the house to join the rest of the family. ‘So,’ he asked. ‘What kind of cake are we having?’