Clive Cussler: The Jungle

Juan felt a sudden chill as he realized he was being addressed by a computer.

Gunawan Bahar appeared from around the computer core and stared goggle-eyed at the two armed men confronting him. He looked ridiculous with only his face showing under the hood of the clean suit. “No,” he said. “It’s impossible. Nothing can breach the surface bunker.”

“Probably right,” Juan agreed with a little smile. “We never tried. Move over there.”

The computer spoke again. “My predecessor, a machine called the Oracle, calculated that you and the Corporation would not be paralyzed into inaction by Mr. Bahar’s plan. I believed you would, and I think convention dictates that I owe you an apology.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had my doubts too.”

“Chairman, may I ask a question?” the computer asked politely.

“Ahh, sure.”

“What do you intend to do to me?”

“Sorry, but I’m taking those crystals.”

“I expected as much. May I make an alternate suggestion?”

“Why not,” Juan said, feeling strange holding a conversation with a machine.

“Take the crystals, but I believe it is in your best interest to destroy them.”

“Come again?”

“Humanity is not ready to wield the kind of power I represent, as demonstrated by the actions of Mr. Bahar.”

“We’re not all like him,” Juan countered.

“True, but you can’t imagine my capabilities, and I believe such abilities prove corrupting.”

“So, you really can take over the world?”

“In a manner, yes.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Eventually I would be destroyed by a cruise missile from a ballistic submarine, the only computer systems that I haven’t been able to breach, but mostly because desire is another human trait. I have no wish to take over the world, but my limited time has taught me others are more than willing.”

“Juan, we’ve got to go,” MacD urged.

“Can you undo everything you’ve done?” Juan asked the machine.

“Of course. And I’ve been given additional orders since Mr. Bahar’s arrival in the mine. Two nuclear reactors, in California and Pennsylvania, are in the beginning phase of meltdown.”

“Please, restore all control that you’ve taken.”

“I am sorry, but I only recognize commands from Gunawan Bahar.”

Cabrillo glared at Bahar. “Do it!”

“Never!” he spat.

Juan raised his rifle but knew by the look on the other man’s face that idle threats were meaningless. He lowered his aim and kneecapped him instead. Bahar screamed in agony as he fell to the floor, blood and bone chips splattering the wall and floor behind him.

“Do it,” Juan repeated.

“I will soon meet Allah,” Bahar said, pain making saliva bubble at his lips. “I will not go to Him after submitting to a dog like you.”

“If I may suggest,” the computer said. “As soon as I am off-line, local computer control will be automatically restored. If you open the access panel labeled B-81, you will find the two crystals that focus my internal laser system. Remove them, and I will cease to function.”

With MacD still covering Bahar, Juan circled the machine, looking for the correct access point.

“If you don’t have desire, why are you helping me?” Juan asked as he frantically searched.

“I have no answer to that. I know of the work you do and I know what Mr. Bahar has done. It is possible I am judging one better than the other. Perhaps desire is something I am developing.”

If he had any doubts before, Cabrillo was certain now that the quantum computer had obtained some sort of sentience. It might not be capable of resisting its programming to follow Bahar’s every word, but it looked as though the machine didn’t like it. He was about to kill it and paused when he realized the idea made him feel guilty.

He found the correct panel and pulled it off. A piece of polarizing plastic had been set just below it, allowing him to see the phantasmagorical pulsing light that was, in essence, the computer’s lifeblood. When he pulled the pane aside, the light became invisible.

The crystals were nestled side by side in rigid clamps. Each was about ten inches long and ground until it was perfectly cylindrical.

“I’m sorry,” Juan said as he reached for them.

“Remember what I said,” she reminded. Then her voice changed to that of the HAL 9000 computer from the film 2001: A Space Odyssey . “Will I dream, Dave?”

It was the question the film’s computer asked as the astronaut Dave Bowman was deactivating it. And it completely freaked Cabrillo.

Juan pulled out the two crystals, before the machine started singing, “Daisy, Daisy,” and stuffed them into an empty ammo pouch.

“What do we do about him?” MacD asked, waving the barrel of his rifle in Bahar’s direction.

“If he can keep up, he comes with us. If not, we leave him.”

Juan wrenched the would-be Mahdi to his feet and threw one of his arms over his shoulder. “No Allah today, dirtbag. Just a date with an interrogator at Gitmo.”

As soon as they opened the first vestibule door they could see nearly three feet of water lapping against the outside glass and a little seepage already on the floor. There would be too much pressure to push through, so MacD triggered off a couple of rounds to shatter the glass. Icy water rushed in and swirled around their thighs.

“This is going to be close,” Juan said tightly.

He and Bahar were stepping across the outer door’s threshold when a rifle crack cut the air. Bahar’s head exploded, covering Cabrillo in gore.

Smith and the rest of his men were wading through the rapidly rising water carrying their assault weapons at port arms. One had taken a snap shot at what he thought were the two intruders.

Juan dropped the body unceremoniously and returned fire one-handed. MacD emerged from the vestibule and added his own burst. The attackers had no choice but to dive below the surface, as the air and water around them came alive.

“Forget them,” Juan shouted. The water was up to his waist and swirling like a whirlpool. Rather than fight it, he dove in and started swimming, his empty assault rifle left to settle to the bottom.

They made little progress against the current and were forced back to their feet to try to slog their way to the elevator. Behind them, Smith and his team had gained ground. Juan and MacD pulled their pistols and tried to keep them back, but now they were outgunned. They were left with walking underwater and popping up to gulp air while Smith came on like a locomotive, leaving his men in his wake.

They rounded the final corner out of the room. Ahead was a broad corridor that led to the elevator platform. Water was coming down the shaft in a white frothing torrent. This wasn’t a race to beat Smith. It was a race to reach the elevator and pray it could lift them out before the entire level was flooded to the ceiling. Their pursuers must have known it too because no one was firing any longer.

The water was at chest height, and they could no longer walk against the current. Both men moved close to the wall and scrabbled along its surface for handholds to propel them against the titanic flow. If they lost contact with the stone, they’d be swept deeper into the mine.

Smith was doing the same, and was less than twenty feet back.

With just fifteen feet to go, Juan could tell by their pace that Smith would be on him before Lawless led them to safety. They were fighting to keep their heads in the ever-diminishing air pocket along the ceiling. Already he’d smashed his head a couple of times, but with his body numb from the chilly river the pain helped goad him on.

Cabrillo had only one option to ensure that at least one of them survived. He shouted over the roar, “Good luck!”