Matt Eaton - Blank

He heard the sound of metal hinges somewhere ahead. A man’s figure came into view about 10 metres away, silhouetted against the rising curtain of daylight at the tunnel’s far end. The figure waved at him then disappeared back into the tunnel wall – a maintenance compartment separating the westbound and eastbound lanes.

Yang paused for a moment. If one wanted to plan an assassination there would be few places better than this in which to carry it out. But he had already decided neither Australia nor the US had anything to gain from his death. If he was murdered today, it could only be because many more people were marked for death tomorrow. In that case, all hope was lost.

But Yang had not yet lost hope. He stepped into the service bay and pulled the door shut behind him. It was so dark he could not see his hand in front of his face.

A fluorescent light flickered to life above his head. General Neil Shearer stepped forward and held out his hand. He was dressed like an old man out for a Sunday stroll.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

Yang shook the General’s hand and stared deep into the man’s eyes. Each held the other’s gaze warily.

“I apologise for the meeting place,” said Shearer. “But needs must.”

Yang smiled, his suspicions far from allayed. He was aware the General was obliquely referring to China’s infiltration of ASIO headquarters. Plans of the building were obtained from its construction company, forcing a total refit of the building at a cost of many millions of dollars.

“I know why I value such secrecy, General,” Yang told him. “But I wonder why you feel it necessary.”

“What I have to say is not for American ears.”

Nor, perhaps, for other Australian ears?

Yang checked his watch. “You have precisely seven minutes to state your case before I depart, General. Until then you have, as they say, my undivided attention.”

“I am here,” Shearer began, “because I hope war can be prevented. But in the event war becomes inevitable, it is necessary to choose sides.”

“Has Australia not already done so?”

Shearer paused, then changed tack. “Tell me all you know about what occurred in the Antarctic.”

“It was a volcanic eruption. A natural cataclysm.”

Shearer shook his head. “Don’t just give me the party line – tell me how China made it happen.”

Yang grew angry. “You assume too much – and have no right to do so.”

“Something happened down there the US can’t explain.”

“They detected an event with seismic instruments set up by their own scientists,” said Yang. “It is a region busy with research and quasi-scientific American activity. How could China hope to do what you suggest without being discovered?”

Shearer smiled. “That’s a very good question.”

“Whatever happened to trigger the volcanic eruption occurred more than a kilometre under the ice. Surely that means it was a natural occurrence,” said Yang.

“The signals I’m talking about were not seismic waves – they were radio waves. They were man-made.”

The statement caught Yang off-guard. “China has no capacity to explode weapons of any sort deep underground. We cannot conceive of why America or any nation would carry out such an act of self-destruction. Yet this is the terrible thing of which you accuse my people.”

“Do you deny trying to shoot down an American spy satellite?”

“We lost many of our satellites in the solar storm,” said Yang. “We were merely trying to launch another.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” said Shearer. “America was blind for two days after the Sunburst. Their military sats were built to withstand the most intense solar radiation storms, but US Space Command shut them down as a precaution. Trouble was, it took two days to get them back online. The Americans were sitting ducks for all that time.”

Yang’s expression gave nothing away.

“Isn’t it possible the People’s Liberation Army learned of this vulnerability and your generals decided to press their advantage?” Shearer asked him.

“It is possible,” Yang admitted. “But I have been assured this did not happen.”

General Shearer stared hard into the man’s eyes and saw he was telling the truth. “Then I’m sorry, but your superiors are lying to you. Space Command didn’t detect the launch until your bird was in the air. However, they know the difference between a rocket and a missile.”

Yang sighed. “Let us presume that what you say is true. From this act alone China is being held responsible for the Flood. But one and one do not make three.”

“Forgive me,” Shearer countered, “but the People’s Republic seems to place little value on the lives of individuals. Someone in your leadership perhaps saw the Flood as a way to lift China’s standing in the world.”

“Do I need to remind you the US has a long history of aggression in virtually every corner of the globe? China is on its knees, General. Yet instead of using our armed forces to help the people recover from the catastrophe, we are forced to prepare for possible invasion.”

Shearer nodded. He appeared to have made up his mind about something.

“Tell me why I am here, General.”

“I’ve been instructed to inform you that Australia does not wish to become collateral damage in a war between two superpowers.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we are willing to walk away from our strategic alliance with the United States.”

Yang Hongbo’s expression narrowed. “Such words are easy. They are much harder to demonstrate. Defence treaties require more than a handshake on the side of the road.”

“Surely I don’t need to explain the sensitivity of this matter. The Prime Minister is terrified this will backfire. We can’t risk going public before we know your response.”

“You may need to offer something more concrete to convince my Government your words are not merely a calculated distraction.”

“Which is why I am informing you my operatives will soon commence an operation that will demonstrate the seriousness of Australia’s intent in this regard.”

A magpie’s storm call echoed through the air below. It snapped Luckman out of his reverie and he turned to the job at hand. Eight floors… about 24 metres. One rope would be enough, which would save some time.

He double checked he was facing the right way. One balcony looked much like another on a circular building and he didn’t want to miss his target. Near the edge he yanked on a metal railing and decided it would hold his weight. He fed out the rope, securing it to allow for its retrieval from below, then slung the rest of his gear on his back. Within two minutes he was moon-walking down the vertical face of the building exterior.

Bell was the only person in the Army who knew about his visions. Luckman had had nightmares for years, on and off… about the men he’d killed or the faces of soldiers he’d seen shot to pieces. The smell and the pain had been seared into his brain. They were all part of him, each phantom instantly recognisable. But the faces coming to him lately were unfamiliar. There had only been one or two at first, but they quickly formed a mob that pursued him through a dreamscape of desolation, pleading for safety and relief. Their ardent appeals were alarming enough, but the dark force from which they fled evoked a fear so intense it was nothing short of blind panic. At the heart of it lay something he would do anything to avoid. The desperate faces in flight were likewise terrified, but he had not the vaguest inkling of why they thought he could help them.

It may simply be a recurring nightmare, a product of his brain’s attempt to process the horror of his waking existence. But he had begun to wonder whether there might be more to it than that, whether there were more people out there in desperate need of help. Luckman had awoken in fright so many times he’d taken to leaving a light on.