Area 51: Excalibur-6 (28 page)

"You know Aspasia's Shadow has the Grail," Garlin pressed. "We need to unlock whatever secrets are inside Duncan's head before he grows too powerful."

Sherev wasn't quite following what was so important about Duncan, but he also knew that just sitting there with the Ark of the Covenant locked in a vault wasn't doing anybody any good. "I will be heading toward your location with the Ark of the Covenant immediately."

PEARL HARBOR

Over sixty years late, the Arizona exited the channel at Pearl Harbor into open ocean to link up with the rest of the fleet. Unfortunately the fleet it was going to join was controlled by an alien force.

The ship glided through the water, increasing speed as it

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cleared the channel. The acceleration continued, water being sucked into vents built into the sides of the bow by the nanovirus, channeled through large pipes, put under pressure, and expelled at the stern where the ship's mighty propellers had been replaced, the metal used to help construct the new propulsion system.

Soon the ship was moving at over sixty knots.

In place of the turrets where mighty guns had once been, there were cruise missile launchers. The nanovirus had done such an efficient job resurrecting the Arizona that it was more modern than any ship in the Alien Fleet it was going to join.

Captain Lockhart stood on the bridge of the ship, a set of binoculars to her eyes, trained to the right, watching the southwestern corner of Oahu slip by.

She put the binoculars down and turned as a crewman handed her a message—the location of the Alien Fleet. She issued the appropriate order to the helmsman and the Arizona sliced through the ocean en route to the rendezvous point.

MOUNT ARARAT

General Kashir had only twenty-five men left from the three hundred he had crossed the border with. At least the Turkish jets weren't flying in the darkness. His men had made a miserable camp on the side of the mountain, among the rocks, snow, and ice. He forbade them making fires for fear of being seen by Turkish patrols, which they had spotted below them just before dark. They could see vehicle lights far below as the Turkish army surrounded the mountain, but it didn't appear that the troops were moving upslope yet.

He pulled a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket and pulled a poncho over his head so that his flashlight wouldn't be seen. He turned on the light and opened the envelope. A

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piece of paper was inside, folded in half. He extracted the paper and unfolded it. A set of directions handwritten in Arabic directed him on the final stages of finding his way into the cavern that held the mothership. And then further instructions on how to get inside the mothership and what to do once he was inside. He found it all overwhelming.

He had met Al-Iblis just once and the "man" had chilled Kashir to the bone with his aura. But Al-Iblis had been a valuable ally over the years, the ultimate reason why Kashir held the rank he did and had wealth that far exceeded that which was equal with his rank. At that one meeting Al-Iblis had given him this envelope and told him he must be prepared upon receipt of a certain code word to execute this operation. Kashir had always hoped that day would not come. He imagined the man who had assassinated Hussein had felt the same way, as there was little doubt in Kashir's mind that Al-Iblis's long reach had been involved in that.

Satisfied that the entrance to the cavern wasn't far off, Kashir turned off the flashlight and removed the poncho. The first thing he saw as his eyes adjusted to the dark was the small red dot trained on his chest. Kashir slowly got to his feet, peering about in the dark. Men were moving—men with something on their faces. Night-vision goggles, very advanced, something that Kashir knew his army did not possess. The red dot was still on his chest. Then, as his eyes adjusted further, Kashir noted that his men lay still, too still.

One of the figures came up to him. Kashir now saw that the muzzles of their weapons were bulky—silencers. His men had all been killed while he had read the instructions underneath the poncho. He felt his stomach quake and bile rise in his throat.

The man held out his hand. Kashir handed over the envelope and letter.

"Please," he whispered in Arabic.

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He never saw the Kurd who was behind him. He did feel the steel as it slid across his throat and the explosion of warm liquid on his chest.

Kakel wiped the blade on the dead general's coat, then sheathed it. "What is that?" he asked Yakov, indicating the letter with the point of his knife.

"Was that necessary?" Yakov asked.

"You killed the rest while they slept," Kakel noted. "Was what I did any worse than that? They are Iranians. They kill my people without a second thought. I feel nothing killing them."

Yakov dropped the matter, flipping up the night-vision goggles. He put a red-lens flashlight between his teeth and turned it on. Then he opened the letter.

"It is directions into the chamber."

"Let me see." Kakel looked over his shoulder. The Kurd cursed. "Someone knows the back door."

"There's more," Yakov said as he read. He nodded. "The way into the mothership.

I was concerned about that. Good. Now it is your turn to live up to your end of our bargain," he said to Kakel. He signaled to the Delta commandos. "Let's go."

They headed back toward the cave.

VICINITY MIDWAY

Radar was an active electromagnetic activity, so Admiral Kenzie had ordered his ships to turn off their chief means of detecting an enemy's approach in order to keep his ships from being detected. To give early warning, he kept one E-2

Hawkeye constantly on station two hundred miles to the southeast, the direction from which he assumed the Alien Fleet would approach. The Hawkeye had three means of detecting objects— radar, IRR (infrared radar), and a passive system.

He hoped keeping the Hawkeye over two hundred miles

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away would give him both early warning and some distance in case it was detected by the Alien Fleet. He also had two F-14 Tomcats with the Hawkeye to give it some protection.

The craft were currently flying a figure eight, two hundred miles southeast of the fleet. The Hawkeye was at thirty thousand feet while the Tomcats were ten thousand feet higher than that. The dome receptor on the top of the Hawkeye gave the crew coverage out to just short of Hawaii.

They picked up incoming aircraft just about the same time several surface targets appeared at the edge of their detection to the southeast. The aircraft originated in the same location, so the crew had to assume they were carrier-launched. The Hawkeye tracked the aircraft as they spread out in a search pattern, a dozen planes on tracks ranging from southwest through almost due north of Hawaii.

And one of those craft was on a track for Midway, and if it went beyond the atoll, it would definitely discover the American fleet. Under radio listening silence, the commander on board the Hawkeye had to make a command decision.

Using low-power radio he contacted the two F-14 pilots.

For a long moment there was silence from both planes in response to the plan he proposed. Then both pilots WILCO'd — will comply.

EASTER ISLAND

Aspasia's Shadow held the thummim in his hand, feeling the warmth that came out of the stone. The Grail was on a table in front of him, top end open. The end he had not yet partaken of.

He knew much of what Aspasia had known, but not everything. There were a few things his progenitor had withheld from the first incarnation of his Shadow via the ka. The

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knowledge of the ability of the Grail to grant immortality had not only been given him through the ka, but it was a well-known legend among the human priests on Atlantis. It had been part of the carrot Aspasia had dangled in front of humans to keep them in line.

But the other end of the artifact. There was nothing from the ka although the legend said the other end of the Grail granted knowledge. But knowledge of what?

Aspasia's Shadow wondered. He supposed Artad knew, but it wasn't likely his ancient enemy would give him the answer.

Plus, the legends said that knowledge was also linked with the Ark, which he had left behind when he fled Mount Sinai. Aspasia's Shadow held the thummim over the end of the Grail, tempted ever so much to place it inside and let the alien machine do whatever it had been designed to.

AIRSPACE, PACIFIC

The F-14 pilot spotted the target aircraft visually, his radar turned off. He'd been flying on dead reckoning to the northeast. The Hawkeye had given him the speed and track of the bogey and the F-14's navigator had plotted both", picking the interception point. They were almost due north of Hawaii and the bogey was the one farthest right on the search fan the Alien Fleet had deployed.

"Ready?" the pilot asked his navigator over the intercom.

"Yes."

Both men had families back in Hawaii and had no clue as to their fates. But they had known their own fates from the minute the senior officer on the Hawkeye had radioed his plan.

"Going in," the pilot said. He kicked in afterburners and roared toward the bogey. He could tell it was also an F-14 with extra fuel tanks slung under the wings. The bogey must have picked them up, because it began to turn in their direction.

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The F-14 pilot fired his 20mm nose cannon, deliberately aiming wide and to the right. He banked slightly left, racing past the alien plane. He recognized the insignia painted on the tail. He knew men who had been in that squadron.

Keeping his afterburners firing, the pilot raced to the north. The alien plane followed. The F-14's navigator could hear the alien plane reporting their presence back to the fleet. As expected. The Alien Fleet would most likely assume he was heading back to his carrier and would report his location and direction, sending them in the wrong direction.

"We're good," the navigator reported.

"Roger that." The pilot pulled back hard on his stick and the F-14 did a loop and they were behind the alien plane. This time he didn't miss as he riddled the slow-reacting craft. It broke apart, pieces tumbling to the ocean.

"Well?" the navigator asked as they leveled off.

"We don't have enough fuel to get back to the fleet," the pilot said, something he knew the navigator was aware of.

"And they're probably tracking us now," the navigator added.

"Yeah." They continued to fly north for several moments in silence.

"Ah, hell," the pilot finally said. "Let's see what this sucker can do."

The second F-14 was above and behind the scout plane heading directly toward Midway and the fleet. It didn't miss as it made its first gun run, coming in out of the early-morning sun. The scout plane was blown to bits before it could radio a message.

EASTER ISLAND

Aspasia's Shadow slowly lowered the thummim toward the Grail, his hand trembling slightly. He paused as he noted one

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of the Marines monitoring the satellite radio coming toward him.

"What?"

"One scout plane has reported making contact with an enemy plane that was fleeing to the north. It has since ceased transmitting. We have lost contact with another scout."

Aspasia's Shadow cursed as he put the thummim back in its wooden box. He went to the guardian to make direct access to the information. The northernmost scout plane had reported an intercept, then went off the air. Another had simply disappeared. It would be most logical to assume the American fleet was to the north. His fleet was already turning to the north in pursuit.

Aspasia's Shadow had fought many battles and matched wits with the brightest mankind had to offer. He ordered his fleet to the northwest in the direction of Midway. He also noted that Artad had sent a message to Mars. There was no time to experiment with the Grail—he needed to ensure he won first.

MOUNT EVEREST

Turcotte was happy simply to have his feet underneath him, even though the top of the ridge was extremely narrow, less than a foot wide in places. He was bent over, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath, knowing from his experience climbing the side of the ridge that it was a futile effort. He reached down and extended a hand, helping Mualama up over the edge.

"Someone's ahead of us," Morris said.

Turcotte finally noticed the path dug into the snow.

"It's very recent," Morris said. "The wind yesterday would have wiped this out, so it happened during the night."

Turcotte looked up. There was a slight hint of dawn in the

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air and he could barely make out the silhouette of the bulk of the mountain above them. There were no lights to indicate another party in sight. Morris checked the rope that connected all of them, making sure it was secure to each man's harness.

"I don't suppose it could be a party of civilian climbers," Turcotte said.

"No." Morris was checking Mualama's oxygen mask. "They'd have to be insane to be climbing this time of year."

"That makes me feel better," Turcotte muttered. He knelt and checked the snow. A couple of people, not many. He stood and slipped the MP-5 around so that it hung across his chest. He'd removed the trigger guard so he could fire it with his gloves, but as a precaution against accidents while climbing, there was no round in the chamber. He corrected that by pulling the bolt back.

He held the MP-5 in one hand, his climbing ax in the other. "Let's go."

Morris moved past him and took the lead. He began climbing up the ridgeline. The incline was slightly over forty-five degrees and Turcotte found it was all he could do to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to breathe. He didn't even bother to look over his shoulder and check on Mualama—he assumed that if the line around his waist didn't pull him back, then the African archaeologist was keeping pace.

He bumped into Morris's back. "What's the matter?"

Morris simply pointed at the spot his headlamp illuminated. Two men lay dead, their faces frozen in silent agony. Both had packs on their backs with climbing gear and ropes attached.

"Who are they?" Turcotte asked, simply glad to halt and try to catch his breath.