Area 51 (28 page)

Most of the words and partial sentences he was translating referred to mythology or religion, gods and death and great calamities. But there was very little specific information.

Most of the high runes in the pictures seemed related to whatever form of worship existed in the locale they were found in.

There was no further information about the pyramids or the existence or location of Atlantis. There were several references to a great natural disaster sometime several centuries before the birth of Christ, but that was nothing new. There was much emphasis on looking to the sky, but Nabinger also knew that most religions looked to the sky, whether to the sun, the stars, or the moon. People tended to look up when they thought of God.

What was the connection? How had the high rune language been spread? What had Von Seeckt found in the lower chamber of the Great Pyramid? Nabinger gathered up the photos and returned them to his battered backpack.

Too many pieces with no connection. With no why. And Nabinger wanted the why.

22

PHOENIX, ARIZONA

T-87 HOURS, 15 MINUTES

"You gave Nabinger this address?" Turcotte asked for the third time.

"Yes," Von Seeckt replied from the comfort of the couch. The living room of the apartment was dark.

"You left it on his voice mail?"

"Yes."

"And he left the first message on your voice mail?"

Turcotte persisted.

"Yes."

"For God's sake," Kelly muttered from underneath a blanket on a large easy chair, "you sound like a cross-ex-amining attorney. We went through all that earlier today in the car. Is there a problem?"

Turcotte peered out the two-inch gap between the curtain and the edge of the window. He'd been standing there for the past hour, unmoving while the other two slept, the only sign that he was conscious his eyeballs flickering as he took in the view.

He had awakened them both a few minutes ago. It was still dark out and in the glow of the streetlights there was nothing moving on the street. "Yeah, there's a problem."

Kelly threw the blanket aside and reached for the lamp.

"Don't do that." Turcotte's voice froze her hand on the knob.

"Why?"

Turcotte turned his gaze into the room. "If I have to explain everything I say, we're going to get our shit wasted when there's no time to explain. I'd appreciate it if you just do what I say when I say it."

Kelly's clothes were wrinkled and she had not had the most comfortable night's sleep in the chair. "Are we in the middle of a crisis that you don't have time to explain?"

"Not this minute," Turcotte said. "But I'm preparing you both for the minute when that's going to happen. Which," he said, jerking his thumb at the window,

"is going to be sometime this morning."

"Who's out there?" Von Seeckt asked, sitting up on the couch and trying to pull his beard into some semblance of order.

"Less than an hour ago a van pulled in across the street and down that way"--Turcotte pointed to the left--"about two hundred feet. For fifteen minutes no one got out. Then a man exited, went over to our rent-a-car, and placed something under the right rear quarter panel. He went back and got in the van, and there's been no movement since then. I assume they have surveillance on the back of this building also."

"What are they waiting for?" Kelly tossed aside the blanket, stood, and began gathering her few belongings.

"If they got the messages off Von Seeckt's answering service, probably the same thing we are. Waiting for Nabinger to show."

Kelly paused, seeing that Turcotte was standing still.

'Couldn't they just have had this place under surveillance after kidnapping Johnny?"

"Maybe," Turcotte said. "But that van wasn't there when we pulled in last night, and when you and I were out for our little walk I did a sweep of the area and didn't spot any surveillance. I think they only came on the scene this morning.

Which makes me think they got around to checking the good professor's answering service."

Von Seeckt nodded. "Yes. They would do that. I made a mistake, did I not?"

"Yes. And by the way, next time, you tell me what you're doing before you do it." Turcotte reached inside his coat.

He pulled out a pistol, pulled out the magazine, checked it, put it back, and pushed the slide back, chambering a round.

"What's the plan?" Kelly asked.

"You ever read the book Killer Angels'?" Turcotte asked, shifting over and looking back out the thin crack.

"About the Battle of Gettysburg?" Kelly asked.

Turcotte spared a glance back at her. "Very good. Do you remember what Chamberlain of the Twentieth Maine did when he was on the far left of the Union line and about out of ammunition after continuous attacks by the Confederates?"

"He ordered a charge," Kelly said.

"Right."

"So we're going to charge?"

Turcotte smiled. "Just when they do. They'll be overconfident and think they have the initiative. Timing is everything."

"Ah, fuck," the major muttered to the other men crowded into the van. He glared at the sophisticated communications rig bolted to the left rear wall of the van, then keyed the mike hanging from the ceiling. "Roger that, sir. Anything else?

Over."

"Don't screw it up." General Gullick's voice was unmistakable, even after being digitized and scrambled, then unscrambled and deciphered by the machines.

"Out here."

The radio went dead.

The major pushed the ceiling mike out of the way and looked at the other men.

"We wait until the other target links up at the apartment. They have to be taken alive. All of them."

"It'll be daylight by the time the other guy gets here,"

one of the men said in protest.

"I know that," the major said in a tone that was not conducive to discussion.

"I'll clear it with the locals and keep them out of the way." He lifted a sophisticated-looking gunlike object. "Remember--they are all to be taken alive, so use your stunners only."

"What about Turcotte?" one of the men asked. "He's going to be trouble."

"He's the priority target when we go in the door. The others will be easy," the major said.

"I don't think Turcotte's going to worry about keeping us alive," one of the men muttered.

Despite a long night with an extended layover at Dallas Fort Worth International, Professor Nabinger felt thoroughly alive and alert as the taxi turned the corner and the apartment building appeared. There was just the slightest hint of dawn in the air in the east.

After removing his bags Nabinger paid the driver. He left the suitcase on the curb and tucked his leather case with the photos Slader had given him under his arm as he searched for the appropriate apartment. He knocked on the door and waited. It swung open, but no one was there.

"Hello?" Nabinger called out.

"Step in," a woman's voice came from inside the dark room.

Nabinger took a step forward and a man's arm reached around the door and grabbed his collar, pulling him into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

"What is going--" Nabinger started.

"Quiet," Turcotte said. "We're going to be attacked in a few seconds. Go with her." He had one of the flash-bang grenades he'd kept from the Nightscape mission in his hand. He pulled the pin and leaned against the door, listening.

Kelly took Nabinger's arm and led him to the far corner of the room, where Von Seeckt also waited. She handed him a strip of dark cloth cut from the curtain.

"Hold this over your eyes."

"What for?" Nabinger asked.

"Just do it!" Kelly said.

The door exploded in under the impact of a hand-held battering ram and men tumbled in, their eyes searching for targets. They were greeted with a bright bang and flash of white light, immediately blinding all of them.

Turcotte dropped the dark cloth he'd held to protect his vision and stepped among the four men, his arms moving in a flurry of strikes, sending two of them down unconscious in less than a second. He scooped up one of the stun guns from an inert hand and finished off the other two with it as they tried to regain their senses.

"Let's move!" Turcotte yelled.

Kelly grabbed hold of Nabinger and they headed out the door.

In the van the major tore the headset off and bounced it off the wall, his ears still ringing from the transmission of the flash-bang grenade going off in the apartment across the street.

"They're coming out!" the lookout man in the front seat of the van yelled.

The major pulled open the side door and stepped out into the street, a silenced submachine gun at the ready.

Turcotte froze, the other three members of his group stacking up behind him. The officer with the submachine gun was joined by a man from the front seat, both pointing their weapons directly at Turcotte.

"Don't move an inch!" the officer ordered.

"What're you going to do? Shoot me?" Turcotte said, hefting the stun gun. "Then why'd you use these? You're supposed to take us alive, aren't you?" He took another step toward the two men. "Those are your orders, aren't they?"

"Freeze right where you are." The officer settled the stock of the gun into his shoulder.

"General Gullick will be mighty pissed if you put holes in us," Turcotte said.

"He might be pissed, but you'll be dead," the major returned, centering his sights on Turcotte's chest. "I'll make damn--' The major's mouth froze in midsentence and a surprised look ran across his features.

Turcotte fired at the driver and the stun round caught the man in the chest, and he collapsed next to his leader.

Turcotte glanced over his shoulder. Kelly slowly lowered the stun gun she'd picked up on the way out. "Took you long enough," he said, gesturing for them to get into the van.

'The conversation was interesting," Kelly said. "So very macho." They helped Von Seeckt and a thoroughly confused Nabinger into the back of the van. The street was still deserted.

'You drive," Turcotte said, standing in the opening between the two front seats.

"I want to play with the toys in the back."

"Next stop, Dulce," Kelly said, throwing the van in gear and pulling away with a squeal of tires.

THE CUBE

"Sir, the team leader in Arizona reports that they've lost the targets." Quinn carefully kept his eyes down, looking at his computer screen.

Three hours of sleep were all that General Gullick seemed to need to operate on. He wore a freshly pressed uniform and the starched edge of the light blue shirt under his dark blue coat pressed into his neck as he turned his attention from reading reports on the mothership. "Lost?"

"Professor Nabinger showed up and the Nightscape team moved in to secure all the targets." Quinn recited the facts in a monotone. "Apparently, Turcotte was prepared.

He used a flash-bang grenade to disorient the entry team.

Then, using the stun guns from the entry team, he and the others subdued the van team and took off, driving the van."

"They have the van?" General Gullick leaned back in his chair. "Can we trace it?"

Quinn closed his eyes briefly. This day was starting out very badly and it wasn't going to get better as the new information scrolling up on his screen told him. "No, sir."

"You mean we don't have a tracer on our own vehicles?"

Gullick asked.

"No, sir."

"Why not?" Gullick raised his hand. "Forget it. We'll deal with that later.

Put out a 'sight and report only' to the local authorities. Give them a description of the van and the people."

He looked up at the large display at the front of the room. An outline of the United States was currently displayed. "I want to know where they're heading.

We've got to prevent them from going to the media. Alert Mr. Kennedy to have his domestic people monitor the wires. We get a peep that Von Seeckt has gone to anyone, I want Nightscape there." Gullick's eyes flickered across the map.

"Tell those in Phoenix to stay there. I also want Tucson and Albuquerque covered. They'll stay away from the airports, so we have them on the ground. The longer they're out there the bigger the circle grows."

Quinn plunged on. "There's something else, sir."

"Yes?"

"The Abraham Lincoln task force is reporting negative on any sign of the foo fighters. They've scanned the ocean bottom for a twenty-kilometer circle around where the first one went down and they've found nothing. The minisub off the USS Pigeon has combed the bottom and--"

"They stay there and they keep looking," Gullick ordered.

"Yes, sir." Quinn shut the lid on his laptop computer, then nervously flipped it open again. "Sir, uh . . ." He licked his lips.

"What?" Gullick growled.

"Sir, it's my duty to, uh, well . . ." Quinn rubbed his hands together, feeling the knob of his West Point ring on his right hand. The questions had been building for too long. His voice became firmer. "Sir, this mission is going in a direction that I don't understand. Our job is to work on the alien equipment.

I don't see how Nightscape and--"

General Gullick slammed his fist into the tabletop. "Major Quinn!"

Quinn swallowed. "Yes, sir?"

Gulhck stood. "I'm going to get some breakfast and then I have to attend a meeting. I want you to relay a message to all our people in the field and everyone working for us."

Gullick leaned over the table and put his face a foot away from Quinn's. "We have three goddamn days before we fly the mothership. I'm tired of being told of failures and mistakes and fuckups. I want answers and I want results. I've dedicated my life and my career to this project. I will not see it be tarnished or destroyed by the incompetence of others. You don't ask questions of me. No one asks questions of me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

23

FORT APACHE INDIAN RESERVATION, ARIZONA

T-87 HOURS, 15 MINUTES

"I think I'll just stay here," Nabinger said. They were stopped at a small rest area off Highway 60 on the Natanes Plateau. There was a brisk wind blowing out of the northwest and Turcotte was making instant cups of coffee for all of them, using the microwave inside the van and supplies he'd found in a cabinet there.