Area 51: Excalibur-6 (29 page)

'There are a lot of bodies on the mountain," Morris said.

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"Over a hundred. I don't know who these two are." He knelt and scraped some more snow away. "They've been here a couple of years." Morris stood and stepped over them. "Let's go."

Turcotte looked down at the faces as he went over them. He couldn't imagine why anyone would come here unless they absolutely had to. These two men had died simply for the glory of climbing Everest. Glory was something that had lost its luster for Turcotte early in his army career. Without realizing it, Turcotte was lost in his thoughts, going slower and slower, more rope paying out between him and Morris in the lead until the medic was thirty feet ahead and twenty feet above.

The crack of the claymore going off shocked Turcotte out of his reverie, as did Morris's body slamming into him and knocking him backward into Mualama. The three men ended up in a pile on the ridgeline. Turcotte felt the body on top of him, not moving, even as Mualama was pushing to get free.

"Morris?" Turcotte slowly rolled the body to the side. The medic had been peppered by the steel balls the claymore sprayed out and Turcotte knew he was dead even before he checked for a pulse. "Son of a bitch," Turcotte muttered as he pulled his glove off and slipped it under Morris's mask. Nothing. No pulse, no breathing. Just blood, that was already freezing solid.

"What happened?" Mualama asked.

Turcotte had recognized the sound as soon as he heard it, but failed to react.

"Booby trap," Turcotte said. "Claymore mine." He leaned his head down until his chin was just above Morris's face. His heart was racing, whether from the constant attempt to pump blood to his oxygen-starved body or from the brush with death.

"We need to keep moving," Mualama said.

With great effort, Turcotte lifted his head and looked at

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the African, whose face was hidden by the goggles and oxygen mask. Slowly Turcotte unclipped Morris from the rope. "Whoever's ahead of us doesn't want us following." He knew if he'd been closer he'd be dead too. Morris's taking the bulk of the blast and his being below were the only things that had saved him.

Turcotte stood up, trying to focus his mind. Without Morris—could they make it?

He looked up. The first rays of dawn were cutting across the mountain. He had a ground-positioning receiver. And a map with the location. He knew he could find the spot, but could he get to it? Morris had said—what had he said? The last part would be technical climbing. Across the top of the Kanshung Face.

Could he and Mualama do it? Turcotte took several deep breaths, but he still felt light-headed. There was no choice. He stepped over the medic's body. "Come on," he said to Mualama.

MOUNT ARARAT

One of the Chinese transport planes had been shot down by a Turkish jet after crossing the border. The other three had pressed on, flying low, trying to stay under the Turkish radar. Unfortunately, the Chinese did not have anything approaching the mapping and navigational tools the American MC-130 had. As the three approached Mount Ararat and the commandos inside prepared to jump, one of the craft clipped the side of the mountain and exploded in a fireball. The other two made it into the Ahara Gorge and men began jumping out the doors in the rear of both craft, parachutes blossoming.

"More visitors," Kakel said, watching the paratroopers descending. They were standing in the mouth of the cave, drawn out by the sound of the low-flying aircraft.

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"Chinese," Yakov noted, seeing the insignia on the tail of one of the planes as it roared up the gorge, jumpers tumbling from the doors. "Mainland forces." He had no doubt why they were here. "Sent by Artad. This is his mothership and I suppose he wants it back."

Kakel cursed. "Things have changed, haven't they?"

"You can't keep the mothership hidden away anymore," Yakov said. "The world is at war and this is one of the pieces that is being fought over." He had a set of binoculars out and was watching the descending troops.

"Ah!" Yakov exclaimed. He extended the glasses to Kakel. "Look," he said, pointing.

Kakel peered up at the figure Yakov had indicated. "Who—or what—is that?"

"An Airlia. From Qian-Ling. It must be one of Artad's people." Even with just his eyes he spotted another dangling below a parachute, the long black, helmeted form easy to spot among the shorter Chinese commandos. "There are several of them."

"Come." Kakel slipped into the chamber, Yakov and the rest of the Delta commandos following. They went past the other Kurds who made their home there, toward the rear.

"We call this the back door," Kakel said. "I don't know why. It is the name that has been passed down. I have never seen a front door, if there is one."

Yakov assumed that if the mothership lay ahead, there had to be another entrance, a large one capable of allowing the vessel to exit. Kakel went into a narrow tunnel and Yakov and the others followed. The floor of the tunnel sloped down and Yakov noted that the stone was cut smoothly, as he had seen at other Airlia sites. He had seen photos of the mothership at Area 51, so he knew what to expect, but still, his heart was beating rapidly as they descended into Ararat.

"Why have your people kept this secret?" he asked Kakel.

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'The legend is that this is the path through which those saved on the ark came out into the world," Kakel said over his shoulder. "We believe we would be the chosen ones to go back down this path and be saved if the ark ever were needed again. Why would we tell others about it?"

Yakov had traveled much of the world while working for Section IV, the Russian version of Area 51. He'd seen how many ancient societies had built much of their religion and their belief system around Airlia artifacts or legends. He could understand how the Kurds had kept the secret of the mothership for generations.

The tunnel came to an end, a solid rock wall blocking the way. Kakel didn't hesitate, walking up to it while reaching inside his shirt. He brought out a medallion with an eye inscribed on it and placed it in the center. An outline of a door appeared and it slid up, revealing an opening.

Kakel went through. Yakov ducked his head and passed through the opening. He came to an abrupt stop as he took in his new surroundings. He was in a massive cavern, over a mile long and a half mile wide, barely enough to contain the huge black ship resting in a metal cradle in front of him.

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CHAPTER 16: THE PRESENT

MOUNT EVEREST

McGraw and Olivetti had heard the claymore go off, the sound echoing up the mountain. They felt no sense of elation or relief that whoever was following them was dead. They simply kept climbing according to the demands of their programming and the nanovirus. Even with the augmentation they had been given by the guardian, their bodies were beginning to break down as they climbed through the "death zone."

A hundred-foot-high, almost sheer wall appeared in front of them. The Second Step. McGraw pulled a piton off his rack, reached up, and hammered it in. Then he attached the rope and climbed up. He continued up the step, putting in protection all the way to the top. He secured himself and turned to belay Olivetti. The second SEAL came up the step quickly, simply unsnapping from the protection, not bothering to pull it out.

He reached the top of the step and they both looked up. They could see the top of Everest now, about five hundred feet above them. The Kanshung Face was off to their left. McGraw squinted, peering in the distance, then pulled a set of binoculars out of his pack. A small series of dots along the northeast ridge zoomed into focus. Climbers. A large party. They were at about the same altitude.

McGraw shifted the binoculars, taking in what he could see of the Face. The ridge he and Olivetti were on would

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take them within a hundred meters of the spot they were headed toward, then they would have to climb out onto the Face. He checked the other party once more. It was moving at a good pace. He calculated it would reach the Face about the same time as he and Olivetti, but they had the longer traverse. He put the binoculars back in his pack and resumed the climb.

UNITED NATIONS

The Chinese delegate stormed out.

That was expected. What wasn't expected was the number of delegates who indicated their country wanted to assume a neutral stance with regard to both Artad's and Aspasia's Shadow's ultimatums.

The Secretary General sat at the front of the General Assembly listening to the bedlam of arguments, while shuffling the various intelligence reports, some of which, frankly, he didn't believe. The UN had always suffered from reliance on member countries reporting to it and now many of those countries were either withholding information or deliberately lying. He picked up a piece of paper, which the header indicated had originated from Israel. It reported that Arab extremists had attempted to destroy the Ark of the Covenant. That was in direct conflict with an American intelligence report, which said the attack had been the act of a Jewish extremist.

The Secretary General knew the clock was ticking. Reports of biological and chemical warfare in South Korea were being overshadowed by reports American forces had detonated nuclear weapons. The American delegate was not only not commenting on these reports, he also would not say anything about the rumors that Hawaii had been overrun by alien forces and all American sea power in the Pacific had

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been assimilated, leaving the West Coast of the United States open to attack.

The isolationists in many countries were very powerful and there were indications that Guides working under orders from Aspasia's Shadow were behind many of the groups as well as some of the progressives who were urging their governments to join forces with Aspasia's Shadow.

Shoving the reports aside, the Secretary General stood and began pounding on the podium with a gavel. He continued for over a minute until the noise in the General Assembly gradually subsided.

"Enough." The single word echoed though the hall. He held up a single finger.

"We will vote in one hour."

PACIFIC OCEAN,

SOUTHEAST OF MIDWAY

The USS Seawolf 'was Admiral Kenzie's second trip wire and the only one remaining as he pulled in his air cover, hoping that he had diverted the Alien Fleet to the north. Located eighty-seven nautical miles southeast of Midway, the Seawolf was the most advanced submarine in the world, designed from the first concept with only one mission in mind: kill other submarines.

There were several key elements designed into the submarine to allow it to do that task efficiently and with minimum risk. The first was the emphasis on quiet. From the specially shaped propellers, to the rubber coating covering the entire ship that minimized water disturbance when moving, to the shape of the craft itself, everything about Seawolf was focused on making as little noise as possible.

It was also capable of diving deep. The exact depth was lassified, and even the crew didn't know how far down they

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could go. On trials the captain had taken the sub down below three thousand feet with no problems. Beyond that, safety constraints limited their testing but it was felt the modular hull might even be able to go down to five thousand feet, far beyond any other submarine's range.

For weaponry, the Seawolf boasted Tomahawk cruise missiles with which it could target 75 percent of the Earth's land surface, and MK-48 torpedoes with both conventional and nuclear warheads with which to destroy other vessels.

Surprisingly, the Seawolf was relatively small. Just 353 feet long, it wasn't much longer than the first submarine of the same name that went to battle during World War II. Considering that the rear two-thirds of the sub were taken up by the nuclear power plant, engine room, and environmental control systems, the crew of 134 men was crowded into the front one-third. However, with a beam of over forty feet, it was twice as wide as those earlier subs.

Speed was another factor. Its nuclear power plant could propel it at over thirty-five knots, faster than any other submarine it expected to encounter.

However, as those who had faced the alien threat had already found out, expectations were useless.

"We've got two bogeys," the targeting officer called out, relaying a report from the sailors monitoring the submarine's passive listening devices. "Range seventy miles."

"Direction?" the captain demanded.

"Tracking—tracking—straight at us, sir."

"Speed?"

The targeting officer relayed the question. When he got the answer from the sonarman he was disconcerted and repeated the question while the captain waited impatiently.

"Eighty-seven knots, sir. They're loud—some sort of water-pressure propulsion as near as we can determine."

"Bring us up to missile launch and surface scan depth,"

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the captain ordered. His primary weapon against other submarines, the MK-48

torpedo, was an impressive combat system. Over nineteen feet long and weighing almost four thousand pounds, the MK-48 had a range of five miles. However, the torpedo's speed was thirty-five knots, more than sufficient to track down any other normal submarine but almost useless against those which were approaching.

"Plot interception angles on both targets," the captain ordered as he pondered the situation. If the bogeys picked up his shots, they could easily outrun the torpedoes. If he didn't fire, they would be at Midway in an hour and most likely attack the fleet shortly thereafter.

They certainly hadn't ever presented this tactical problem at the Naval Academy or the various schools the captain had attended over the course of his career.

He was reasonably confident his ship hadn't been detected, as neither bogey had changed direction, and he was running silent and in place.

"At launch depth," the targeting officer informed him. "Underwater bogeys, fifty-two miles."

"Give me a surface scan," the captain ordered.

"Multiple surface targets bearing one hundred degrees at eighty-seven miles. Two carriers at least. Course same as bogeys."