Hollow Men

Just as Nick had estimated earlier, the room at the top of the tower was spacious. With some basic renovations, it could easily be partitioned into two bedrooms and a living room.

A corner near the fireplace served as the kitchen, with all sorts of cookware piled there, though most of it was gathering dust. Considering JD was a Brit, that seemed reasonable enough.

A rough wooden chopping board had been fixed to a crude iron frame to serve as a kitchen counter. Carrots and parsley were stacked on it, looking somewhat stunted, but at least they were fresh.

JD stood at the counter, chopping the carrots with a tactical knife in a steady tok-tok-tok as he continued their earlier conversation. "In short, you don't need to pay attention to the East Tower across the way. Just do your own job.

"Still, I did see some activity over there this morning. They're probably doing their annual handover too."

He then dropped the subject of the other side and began explaining Nick's duties for the coming year.

Every day, he had to make a circuit along the western side of the Canyon and inspect the Gatling Close-In Guns stationed every 600 meters, replenishing ammunition or replacing barrels promptly as they were used up or worn out.

This was the most strenuous and most important task, because there were no vehicles here. Ammunition for all twelve Gatling Close-In Guns had to be transported using a homemade handcart.

He also had to inspect and repair the railings along the cliff, replenish the Suspended Sensor Mines, and maintain the Satellite Shielding Equipment called "Big Ears."

Those were the main duties. His free time was his to use as he pleased, and he only needed to report in by shortwave radio every thirty days.

Nick began to understand the purpose of the training he had received over the past three months. "Sounds like we're more like maintenance engineers."

"I appreciate your perceptiveness."

Looking pleased at how easy it was to talk to someone smart, JD plated the steaks along with the carrots and parsley he had simply pan-fried in the remaining butter, then led Nick toward the observation terrace facing the cliff.

The entire top of the watchtower was concrete more than three meters thick, sturdy enough to withstand a direct hit from a 500-kilogram aerial bomb.

Beneath the thick roof, the observation terrace extended outward about five meters. An antiaircraft machine-gun mount stood on either side, each fitted with a classic M2HB "Lao Gan Ma" heavy machine gun.

Crates of 12.7 × 99 mm machine-gun ammunition were piled on both sides of the terrace, as though they were ready at any moment for a passionate exchange of fire with the watchtower opposite.

JD set the two plates on a small table. Seeing Nick staring at the antiaircraft machine guns, he reached up and slapped a button on the wall. Both gun mounts automatically rose into standby position.

Nick stepped onto a footplate and tried it out, his eyelid twitching slightly. With less than fifteen degrees of elevation and over seventy-five degrees of depression, the two "Lao Gan Ma" guns were clearly intended primarily not to fire at aerial targets or across to the other side, but to guard against something down in the Canyon.

"So what's down there? Demons from hell?" he joked, looking down into the mist-shrouded Canyon. There was nothing there.

JD gestured for him to sit down so they could talk at leisure. "You can probably tell this place has been around a while. It's a structure left over from the end of World War II and the beginning of the Cold War. What I'm about to tell you is top secret."

He pointed to the two badly faded British and United States Flags hanging on the wall behind him. "Back then, the leaders of three countries in the East and West signed a secret agreement, forming a Defensive Alliance to make sure no one knew this place existed.

"Every year, each side sends one person to take responsibility for security on the eastern and western sides of the Canyon respectively."

In other words, it was a private alliance between Britain, the United States, and the Soviet Union, one kept secret even from the other two permanent members of the Security Council. Nick did not seem particularly surprised, and he was quite certain Britain must have played some key role in it.

"Since this Defensive Alliance was established, there have been nine leaders of the former Soviet Union, thirteen presidents of America, one queen, and one king.

"But in theory, apart from the first leaders-well, and the one who took over after the dissolution-no one should know this alliance exists."

Nick listened in bewilderment, taking quite a while to work out what he meant.

He meant that, apart from old Roosevelt on the American side, Stalin and Putin on the Russian side, and Britain's extraordinarily long-reigning queen, no senior leaders knew this secret.

Nick could not help feeling delighted. This seemingly ridiculous setup suddenly matched the mission Movie Ticket had given him. The key to saving the world probably had something to do with the Canyon beneath his feet.

Outwardly giving nothing away, he cut himself a piece of steak. But after putting it in his mouth and chewing twice, he froze, then had to force himself to swallow out of politeness. I really shouldn't have trusted a Brit's cooking.

"So what exactly is down there?"

An indescribable expression crossed JD's face. He took a timed grenade from his pocket, turned the timer just under half a revolution, and tossed it out. Then he raised his index finger to his lips and shushed Nick.

Ten seconds later, a faint explosion rose from the depths of the Canyon, followed by countless terrifying, bizarre howls.

The howls rose and fell in an unbroken chorus, perfect material for a horror film.

It was already getting dark, and mist filled the air. Though Nick knew he would see nothing, he could not help standing up again to look down into the Canyon.

The eerie howling continued for several minutes before gradually subsiding. He turned toward JD, who was still seated, and saw that the black British soldier still wore that strange, almost-smiling expression.

"We call the things down there 'Hollow Men.' No one knows where they came from. I don't even know what the term means."

As he spoke, he pointed to an old picture frame hanging on the wall inside the room. The photograph showed an officer wearing a British World War II uniform.

It was also the only photograph in the entire room. Nick remembered that the plaque on the frame read, "The first guardian, Captain Bradford Shaw."

"They say this predecessor of ours gave them that name, and it's been used ever since.

"According to the account passed down through generations of guardians, just after World War II ended, they sent three entire cavalry battalions, over 2,400 men, into the Canyon to try to eradicate those monsters. Not one came back alive."

It had to be said that JD had a real talent for telling horror stories. His tone and expressions were spot-on, enough to give anyone goosebumps.

"Why didn't they just bomb this place? With incendiaries or something," Nick asked in puzzlement.

JD shrugged. "No one knows. Maybe they were worried about causing something even worse. To me, this Canyon is a gateway to hell, and we're its guardians, like Cerberus."

Cerberus was the three-headed hellhound, the creature in Western legends that helped Satan guard the gates of hell.

Although "dog" usually carried no derogatory meaning in English, with lucky people called "lucky dogs" and important people called "big dogs," JD comparing himself to a watchdog still struck Nick as strange.