Belligerent expressions conveyed a lack of hospitality. More choppers thundered past overhead, heading for the mysterious new facility.

“We’re screwed,” Joe said.

EIGHT

The unmarked security van rumbled down an access road deep in the heart of the Q-Zone. It bounced as it crossed a wooden bridge. The bump jarred the bench beneath Ford, who grunted in response. Things were not going well.

He and Joe sat handcuffed to a steel rail in the back of the van, flanked by two unsmiling Japanese soldiers, who had so far ignored all of Ford’s urgent queries as to what was going to happen next. Ford didn’t know if the guards didn’t speak English and couldn’t understand his feeble attempts at Japanese, or if they were just under orders to not engage with the prisoners, but what they had here was a definite failure to communicate. Ford had even tried explaining that he was a U.S. Navy lieutenant, but to no avail. It was clear that this wasn’t going to get straightened out right away.

How on Earth was he going to explain this to his superiors? Or Elle?

Night had fallen, throwing the Q-Zone into darkness, but Ford watched through the rear window as the van drove past numerous military vehicles, heavy equipment, and construction cranes on their way to the massive facility they had spied earlier. The van pulled up to the gates, where a guard conferred with the driver in Japanese. He scoped out the prisoners before waving the van through. Ford guessed that they had arrived at their destination, whatever it was.

Some sort of top-secret base? On top of the old nuclear plant?

Their captors had strongly discouraged the prisoners from conversing with each other. Still, Ford shot a questioning look at Joe.

What the hell have you gotten us into?

* * *

A security van passed beneath the elevated steel gantry supporting Serizawa as he and Dr. Graham made their way toward an observation post above the pit. Both scientists wore protective radiation suits, having just toured the restricted level directly above the buried power plant.

“Fifteen years of silence,” Graham recounted, shaking her head. “Then two weeks ago, these pulses. As of yesterday, it’s up to one an hour and stronger every time. Whelan’s practically walking on air, calling it a living fuel cell. All this time absorbing radiation like a sponge… and suddenly it’s gone electric.”

Serizawa shared his colleague’s astonishment. These were truly stunning developments. He only wished he knew whether they boded ill or not. Unlike the esteemed Dr. Whelan, who was the chief scientist in charge of the operation, Serizawa was not entirely convinced that this was cause for celebration. Now in his fifties, he still remembered that devastated mine in the Philippines—and the many lives that had been lost there.