Matthew Reilly - Area 7

"Well, it's not exactly my area of expertise," Herbie

said, "but I've traveled on it a few times. So far as I know,

it's actually made up of two systems. One heads west from

Area 7, taking you to Lake Powell. The other heads east,

taking you to Area 8."

As Herbie explained, they were on the system that extended

forty miles to the west, out to Lake Powell.

Schofield had heard of Lake Powell before. Truth be

told, it was not so much a lake as a vast one-hundred-and-ninety-mile-long

mazelike network of twisting water-filled

canyons.

Situated right on the Utah-Arizona border, Lake Powell

had once looked like the Grand Canyon, an enormous system

of gorges and canyons that had been carved into the

earth by the mighty Colorado River, the same river that

would create the Grand Canyon farther downstream.

Unlike the Grand Canyon, however, Lake Powell had

been dammed by the U.S. government in 1963 to generate

hydroelectric power--thus backing up the river, creating the

lake, and turning what was already a striking vista of rock

formations into a spectacular desert canyonland that was

half-filled with water.

Now giant sand-yellow mesas rose majestically out of

the lake's sparkling blue waters, while towering templelike

224

Matthew Reilly

buttes lorded over its flat blue horizon. And, of course, there

were the chasms and canyons, now with canals at their bases

instead of dusty rocky paths.

Kind of like a cross between the Grand Canyon and

Venice, really.

Like any large project, the damming of the Colorado

River in 1963 had raised howls of protest. Environmentalists

claimed that the dam raised silt levels and threatened the

ecosystem of a two-centimeter-long variety of tadpole. This

seemed like nothing, however, to the owner of a tiny rest stop gas station, who would see his store--built on the site

of an old western trading post--covered by a hundred feet of

water. He was compensated by the government.

In any case, with its ninety-three named gorges and

God-only-knew how many others, for a few years Lake

Powell became a popular tourist destination for house

boaters. But times had changed, and the tourist trade had

slackened off. Now it lay largely silent, a ghostlike network

of winding chasms and ultra-narrow "slot canyons," in

which there was to be found no flat ground, only sheer vertical

rock and water, endless water.

"This X-rail tunnel meets the lake at an underground

loading bay," Herbie said. "The system was built for two

reasons. First, so that the construction of Areas 7 and 8 could

be kept absolutely secret. Materials would be hauled on

barges up the lake and then delivered forty miles underground

to the building site. We still use it occasionally as a

back-door entrance for supplies and prisoner delivery."

"Okay," Schofield said. "And the second reason?"

"To act as an escape route in the event of an emergency,"

Herbie said.

Schofield looked forward.

X-rail tracks rushed by beneath him--and above him-- at incredible speed. The wide rectangular tunnel in front of

the train bent away into darkness.

A sudden noise made him spin, pistol up.

Brainiac froze in the doorway to the driver's compartment,

his hands snapping into the air.

area 7

225

"Whoa-whoa-whoa! It's me!"

Schofield lowered his gun. "Knock next time, will you?"

"Sure thing, Boss." Brainiac sat down in a spare seat.

"Where have you been?"

"In the back of the second carriage. I got separated from

the others when those rocket grenades came flying in. Dived

into a storage compartment just as the three grenades went

off."

"Well, it's good to have you here," Schofield said. "We

need all the help we can get." He turned to Herbie. "Can we

get telemetry on any of the other trains on this system?"

"I think so," Herbie said. "Just give me a second

here ..."

He punched some keys on the driver's console. A computer

monitor on the dashboard came to life. In a few seconds,

Herbie brought up an image of the X-rail system.

X-RAIL NETWORK 3-589-001

Schofield saw an elongated S-bend that stretched horizontally

from Area 7 to the network of canyons that was

Lake Powell. He also saw two blinking red dots moving

along the trackline toward the lake.

"The dots are X-rail trains," Herbie said. "That's us

226

Matthew Reilly

closer to Area 7. The other one must have left about ten minutes

ahead of us."

Schofield stared at the first blinking dot as it arrived at

the loading bay and stopped.

"So, Herbie," he said, "since we've got a bit of time, this

Botha character. Who is he?"

NO SOONER HAD ELVIS'S HAND GRENADE GONE OFF THAN

Gant and Mother and Juliet were up on their feet and firing

their guns hard, covering the President as they all ran back toward

the fire stairwell from which they had entered Level 6.

The blast of Elvis's RDX grenade had killed five of the

7th Squadron men instantly. Their bloodied limbs now lay

splayed across the X-rail tracks on either side of the central

platform.

The five remaining members of Bravo Unit had been

farther away from the grenade when it had gone off. They

had been knocked over by the concussion wave, and were

now scrambling to find cover--behind pillars and down on

the X-rail tracks--in the face of Gant and the others' retreating

fire.

Into the fire stairs.

Gant led the President up the stairwell. She was breathing

hard, legs pumping, heart pounding, Mother, Juliet,

Hagerty and Tate close behind her.

The group came to the Level 5 firedoor.

Gant reached for the door's handle--then pulled her

hand back sharply.

Small jets of water spurted out from the edges of its

frame. The jets of water shot out from the door's rubber seal,

mainly from down near the floor, losing intensity as they

moved higher. No water sprayed out from the top of the

door.

It was as if there was a waist-high body of water behind

the fireproof door, just waiting to break through.

And then, from behind the door, Gant heard some of the

most hideous shrieking sounds she had ever heard in her

area 7 227

life. It was horrific--pained, desperate. The cries of trapped

animals ...

"Oh, no ... the bears," Juliet Janson said as she came

alongside Gant and saw the firedoor. "I don't think we want

to go in there."

"Agreed," Gant said.

They raced up the stairs and came to Level 4. After

checking the decompression area beyond the door, Gant

gave the all-clear.

The six of them entered, fanned out.

"Hello again!" a voice boomed out suddenly from

above them.

Everyone spun. Gant snapped her gun up fast, and found

herself drawing a bead on a wall-mounted television set.

Caesar's face was on it, grinning.

"People of America, it is now 9:04, and thus time for

your hourly update."

caesar gave his report smugly.

"--and your Marines, inept and foolish, have yet to inflict

any losses on my men. They do little but run. Indeed, His

Highness was last seen making a desperate bid for freedom

down on the lowest level of this facility. I am informed that a

firefight has just taken place down there, but await a report

on the result of that exchange ..."

As far as Gant was concerned, it was all bullshit. Whatever

Caesar said, whatever lies he told, it didn't affect their