The 6th Extinction (Sigma Force 10)
Her smile broadened. “You misunderstand. Not hellscape. It’s Hell’s Cape. As in Cape of Hell.”
“Like that’s much better,” Kowalski commented dourly from across the pilothouse. “You’re not gonna sell a lot of time-shares with that name.”
“We didn’t name it.”
“Then who did?” Gray asked.
Stella hesitated—then finally broke down and spoke freely. “It was Charles Darwin. Back in 1832.”
After a stunned moment of silence, he asked the obvious question. “Why did he name it Hell’s Cape?”
Stella stared at the map, then shook her head. She repeated her noncommittal response from a moment ago. Only now her voice was frosted with dread.
“You’ll see.”
10:55 A.M.
It doesn’t look that bad for Hell.
Jason watched the CAAT grind its way over the last mile toward the icy cape that jutted into the Southern Ocean. By now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, seeing well by starlight and the glowing tides of the aurora australis in the dark sky.
Ahead, the curve of the shoreline—a mix of blue ice and black rocky cliffs—sheltered a small bay. At the bottom of the cliffs, waves crashed against a beach filled with boulders. This was one of the rare areas of the coastline free of ice.
“So where’s this base?” Kowalski asked.
It was a good question.
Stella stood behind the pilot, leaning down and whispering into his ear. The man slowed the CAAT to a crawl as the vehicle approached the coast. He guided the giant belted treads up to the edge of a cliff—
—and then over it.
“Hold on to something,” Stella warned.
Jason grabbed for the rail along one wall while Gray and Kowalski clutched the edges of a chart table.
The CAAT crept farther out until half its length jutted beyond the cliff. Then it began to fall, its front end tipping forward. Jason tightened his grip, expecting to plunge nose-first down to the rocky beach. Instead, the front treads hit a slope hidden below the precipice. The CAAT teetered, the back end lifting. Then they were trundling along a steep grade made of loose scree, heading to the boulder-strewn beach far below.
He let go of his hold and shifted forward to join Stella.
The slope looked man-made, likely bulldozed into place, made of the same loose stone as the beach. But to the casual passing eye, the construction would be easy to miss, especially sheltered by the curve of the cape.
At the bottom of the incline, the CAAT hit the beach and followed alongside the base of those towering sea cliffs, its treads churning across the sand. Ahead, a cavern opening appeared, cut like an axe blow into that ice-rimed rock face. The CAAT slowed and made a sharp turn toward that dark mouth. Its twin head lamps speared into the blackness. The tunnel ended after only thirty yards, blocked by a wall of cold blue steel. It rose five stories high and stretched a hundred yards wide. Along the edges, the barrier looked cemented into place with concrete.
As the CAAT entered, a massive set of double doors opened in that wall, pulling to either side on tracks. Bright light—blinding after the hours of darkness—flowed out, bathing over them.
“Welcome to Hell’s Cape,” Stella said.
Beyond the wall, a cavernous space opened, floored in steel but with natural stone walls. It looked like a cross between the deck of an aircraft carrier and the world’s largest industrial hangar. Another full-sized CAAT sat parked alongside six smaller ones, each half the size of their big brother. There were also two prop planes fitted with floats being serviced on the other side. Elsewhere, a trio of forklifts moved crates, while overhead a track-and-pulley system drew a shipping container along the roof.
The pilot drove their vehicle into that chaos and drew abreast of its twin, as the giant doors sealed behind them. The CAAT came to a halt with a heavy sigh of its diesel engines.
As soon as they stopped, Stella waved them to the stairs leading below. “Let’s disembark. My father has been anxious to meet you all.”
She led the American team down to the lower level and out a ramp that dropped from the stern. The air was unusually warm, smelling of oil and chemical cleaners. Jason gaped at the sheer size of this installation.
Stella spoke to a thin British officer who had run up to them, breathless, his eyes worried. Once finished, she faced them and pointed across the cavern. “He’s up on the observation deck.”
On the far side of this massive hangar, a giant steel structure filled the entire back end of the cavern. It climbed eight stories, with interconnecting stairs and bridges. The very top level held a row of tall glass windows.
There was something vaguely familiar about the layout.
Gray noted it, too. “Is that the superstructure from a naval ship?”
Stella nodded. “From a decommissioned British destroyer. It was brought here piecemeal and reassembled.”
Similar to the outer doors, the repurposed superstructure had been sealed along all its edges by concrete, like caulking a window into a frame.
“Follow me,” Stella said, turning on a heel. “Stick close.”
As Jason obeyed, he was distracted by her backside.
Kowalski caught him looking and nudged him with an elbow. “Just keep walking, kid. Nothing but trouble there.”
Feeling his cheeks heat up, Jason stared anywhere but at Stella. The group passed through staggered rows of sandbags, stacked waist high, with three machine gun mounts holding American-made Browning M2s, all pointed toward the outer doors.
Overhead, he watched the shipping container pass along the trolley tracks above and vanish into the superstructure. For the first time, he noted that the container had thick windows, like an armored ski gondola. And that a bubble on the underside looked distinctly like a gun turret.
Jason hurried to keep up with the others.
What the hell is this place?
11:14 A.M.
Gray followed Stella through a door into the bottommost level of the steel superstructure. She herded them to a nearby freight elevator and hit the button for the top floor.
As it rose, Gray asked, “How long ago was this place established?”
From his perspective as he crossed the outer hangar, the construction of the British station had a certain slapdash quality to it, like somebody had built it in a hurry.
“Construction started six years ago,” Stella answered. “It’s slow work. We’re still refining and adding to it when budgets and circumstances allow. But the search for this place goes back centuries.”
“What do you mean by—?”