Area 51: Excalibur-6 (30 page)

The Alien Fleet. They hadn't been fooled, the captain realized. Two problems. At least the advance subs were probably ahead of the shield.

"Forty-three miles," his targeting officer announced. "I've plotted intercept vectors for the MK-48s but once they detect our launch—" He left the rest unsaid.

"We need to launch now," the captain said.

"Sir, they're out of range."

"Here's the plan," the captain began. As he rapidly issued his orders, his crew sprang to life, implementing them.

'Thirty-five miles," the targeting officer announced, sliding 254

his arming key into the slot at his position. "We're green on torpedoes and missiles and at launch depth."

The captain reached under his shirt and pulled out his own key and inserted it.

"Arm," he ordered. Both men turned at the same time. The other two launch safeguards had already been initiated when they went to combat alert and a red light flashed as all four were now set.

"Launch," the captain ordered.

The submarine vibrated as torpedoes roared out of their tubes and a half dozen Tomahawk cruise missiles fired upward, one after another.

"Dive," the captain ordered as the last missile left its launcher.

"Twenty-two miles," the targeting officer reported.

"Let's see how smart these alien machines are," the captain muttered to himself as the floor of the control room sloped forward as the Seawolf headed into the depths. The sound of the Tomahawks should have covered up the noise the torpedoes made leaving the tube. The torpedoes were set for their slowest and quietest speed. As the Tomahawks arced upward into the sky, the torpedoes were headed out at right angles, not on a direct intercept course with the bogeys but in a direction to get to their projected paths before they arrived.

"Underwater, seventeen miles. Time to target on Tomahawks, two minutes."

Just less than eighty-seven miles to the southeast of Seawolf, the Alien Fleet was steaming at flank speed. The two super-carriers flanked the Jahre Viking, which was in the process of spitting out two more Springfield clones. In the front was the resurrected Arizona, with Captain Lockhart on the bridge. She'd received the report from the two submarines running

255

point for the fleet of the cruise missile launch and her crew was tracking the incoming missiles.

"Launch decoy," the
Seawolf
’s captain ordered.

From the top deck, a small submersible was fired out of a tube. It went up to fifteen hundred feet and slowly began circling as it emitted the same signal a Los Angeles class submarine would.

"Level out," the captain ordered as they reached three thousand feet depth.

"Eight-point-seven miles," the targeting officer reported. "They've adjusted course, homing on decoy."

"Our torpedoes?"

"In place, halted." Despite all the sophisticated computers crammed into the operations center, the targeting officer was looking at an old-fashioned stopwatch, checking it against his computer display.

"Tomahawks, five seconds."

Lockhart saw the explosions, one right after another as the six cruise missiles hit the shield and detonated, a half mile in front of her. The shield absorbed the blasts and then all was still.

Two modified Los Angeles class submarines slipped out of the Jahre Viking and the Alien Fleet continued toward Midway.

"Sonar reports torpedo doors opening," the targeting officer reported. He checked his watch. "Five seconds."

The captain nodded. He had assumed that the alien submarines would attack "by the book." Now he would find out if he was correct.

"Three. Two. One."

"Detonate!" the captain ordered.

256

* * *

Unshielded, both alien submarines took the full brunt of torpedoes detonating less than two hundred meters from each. The Seawolfs guess as to their paths once they detected the Tomahawk launch had been correct. Metal crumpled, seawater flooded in.

"We've got two breaking up," the targeting officer excitedly relayed from the sonarman. "Two bogeys down!"

A cheer rose in the operations center, to be immediately squelched by the captain's shout. "At ease!" When the yelling subsided, he spoke. "Remember there were probably sailors on those subs. Men who used to be like us." Sure that had sunk in, he ordered the submarine to surface-scan depth.

"Report."

The targeting officers face was grim. "Surface contacts, seventy-eight miles. No change."

The captain nodded. As expected. "Plot us a course back to Midway and the fleet.

We've done what we can."

AIRSPACE, GULF OF MEXICO

Sherev looked out the window of the Osprey and saw the apparently abandoned oil rig to their left. The engine nacelles on the end of the wings slowly began rotating from forward into the upright position. He'd flown in an Israeli Air Force Learjet across the Mediterranean, refueling in the Azores and then across the Atlantic, before landing at the airfield Garlin had indicated for him to go to. A half dozen men clad in black fatigues and swaddled in body armor were seated along both sides of the craft. They were members of Unit 269, the most secret and elite unit in the Israeli army.

Five of the commandos carried Heckler & Koch MP-5 submachine guns. While the venerable Uzi was homegrown,

257

these men were more concerned with functionality and accuracy. The sixth man also had an H & K gun—the PSG-1 sniper rifle.

In the center of the cargo area, the Ark of the Covenant was packed inside a large plastic case. A second, smaller case held the priest's garments that had been recovered from beneath the Great Sphinx in Egypt.

Sherev had not bothered to inform his government of his decision to bring the Ark to America. There was so much going on around the world, he had a strong feeling he wouldn't be missed for a while. He'd defended Israel for decades against enemies in all directions, but recent events had caused him to reevaluate his focus, and he had been forced to admit that the threat to the planet was greater than the threat to Israel.

With a slight bounce, the Osprey landed. The door to the pilot's compartment had been locked when it landed at the airfield and the cargo compartment empty when the back ramp came down. Sherev was irritated with this arrangement. If the Ark of the Covenant was so important, someone should have greeted them.

The back ramp slowly lowered and Sherev stood. Four of the commandos raced off the plane, taking up defensive positions around the landing pad. The other two picked up the case holding the Ark, while Sherev got the smaller case. He nodded and they walked off the plane. As soon as they were clear the ramp closed and the aircraft roared off into the sky.

A door slid open in an elevator housing directly in front of them. Sherev hesitated. He could smell the salt water of the Gulf. And as the Osprey dwindled into a small dot in the distance, silence reigned. There was no one about.

Reluctantly Sherev nodded toward the open door. He pointed at the sniper and gave him a thumbs-up. The sniper went over to the abandoned tower and began climbing up to

258

get an overwatch position. With the other five commandos and the two cases, Sherev entered the elevator. The door slid shut and the elevator began descending.

Sherev stepped back as the five commandos aligned themselves in front of him, weapons at the ready, facing the door.

The elevator came to a halt.

Sherev cursed as he heard a noise behind him and what he had thought was a wall was obviously a door. He spun about, pistol at the ready. The silhouette of a man stood there, strangely bisected by what appeared to be a waist-high table the width of the elevator in front of him.

Behind the man—Sherev's finger was on the trigger, but what he saw behind the man froze him in shock and horror. And that was all it took as what he had thought was a table shot forward, the front edge composed of razor-sharp black metal.

The front edge hit Sherev in the stomach, slicing through his body with little regard for flesh and bone, continuing through the elevator. The top half of Sherev's body tumbled onto the case holding the Ark of the Covenant. The five commandos were also cut in half as they turned around, trying to get a shot off.

It was over in less than a second.

Through the physical shock Sherev knew he was dying, blood pumping out of his torso. Despite that, his mind kept replaying what he had seen behind the man. As his last breath left his lungs he experienced a fear far beyond anything his worst nightmares had ever produced. His last thought was that he was glad that he would be dead and never have to see or face that vision again.

MOUNT EVEREST

Turcotte halted at the base of the Second Step and looked up. One hundred feet.

Impossible. He squinted, trying to see

259

through his partially frozen goggles. There were pitons set in the ice wall, each about four feet apart. He reached up, not quite believing what he was seeing, his gloved hand touching the closest one. He automatically reached down, pulled up the rope, and attached it to a snap link and onto the piton. He kicked his right foot into the ice wall and, pulling on the rope, levered himself up two feet.

He glanced over his shoulder. Mualama was waiting for him to get high enough before following. The African had been extremely quiet since they'd left the United States. Since getting on the mountain Turcotte had been so focused simply on surviving he had paid scant attention to the former Watcher. And there was no time to worry about him now. Turcotte took another snap link and piece of sling, reached above his head, and clipped in.

QIAN-LING

Artad placed his hands on the side of the guardian and was encompassed in its golden glow. His forces had landed in Turkey and were heading for the cavern holding the second mothership and, more importantly, the Master" Guardian.

South Korea was a morass. The surprise use of nuclear weapons by the Americans had shut the western corridor. Troops were making progress on the eastern side of the peninsula, but slowly. Artad cared little. The entire campaign was a distraction. The same with Taiwan, where his forces were advancing slowly against the shrewd defenders. He realized now that he should have sent Chi Yu with his Kortad to Ararat, not to aid in the invasion of Taiwan. He considered the mistake a result of not having fully recovered from his ong hibernation and acting too quickly. He issued an order r the shield generator to be off-loaded onto a ground transit and for Chi Yu to return to Qian-Ling for his personal 260

use. And for more of the "flying dragons" to be uncrated by his Kortad.

The humans fought brutally among themselves, Artad noted. The history of the planet since he had gone to sleep indicated that mankind had spent its existence in constant warfare. A species warring against itself was a rare thing in the cosmos. Very rare, but Artad was not surprised.

He continued to review the situation.

Mars.

There was a reply from the Airlia trapped at Cydonia.

They would consider his proposal of an alliance if he promised amnesty, giving his word as an officer of the Kortad as his bond.

Only consider if he gave his word? What choice did they have? Artad reined in his anger and sent a reply.

MOUNT ARARAT

Yakov felt like an ant, an odd emotion considering that he had always towered over most men. But walking underneath the mothership he realized how truly puny man and his achievements were compared to the Airlia. The mothership could swallow a dozen supercarriers with no problem. And it flew, not just in the atmosphere, but through interstellar space. He could not imagine such a massive thing actually lifting out of the cradle of black metal it rested on. It was just too large. He noted that smaller Talon spacecraft were attached to the nose of the mothership, their large size dwarfed by the ship they clung to.

"Where's the Master Guardian?" Major Briggs asked.

Yakov was startled out of his awe. He pulled out the papers he'd retrieved from the Iranian general. "This way."

* * *

261

The Chinese entered the cave firing, not caring if their bullets struck men, women, or children. The Kurds fought bravely, but were overwhelmed by superior firepower. Once the last Kurd was struck down, the Kortad entered, swords in hand. They decapitated all the bodies, even though they were obviously dead.

Then they headed for the back of the cave and the tunnel that led to the mothership.

Yakov arrived at one of the massive braces that held the ship up. It consisted of a single arc of b'ja, the black metal used by the Airlia, and was over ten feet in width and depth. According to the paper, an entrance to the ship was in the metal at ground level, but Yakov saw nothing. He hadn't expected to, given that the American scientists had spent decades searching for a way into the mothership hidden at Area 51.

He checked the paper, then held it up while he looked at the brace. He pressed the Watcher ring against the spot indicated. The outline of a door appeared, over eight feet high by four wide. It slid up to reveal a room six feet in diameter.

"Going up?" Yakov looked at Briggs and Kakel.

262

CHAPTER 17: THE PRESENT

SOUTH KOREA

Colonel Lin fell to his knees and vomited. He was at the objective, Seoul, but it was a Pyrrhic victory. He staggered to his feet and looked about the empty downtown street. There were few dead on the streets, which was strange given that the nerve gas assault must have killed millions. He assumed most had crawled inside to die. He continued to move forward, even though he led no men.

Most had been killed fighting north of the city and then when the mushroom clouds had appeared in the south, even the rigid discipline of the PKA had fallen apart and the rest had slunk away into the darkness of the previous evening.

But Lin had pushed on, his mind focused on the objective, even though he knew he was going farther into the radioactive zone. He assumed he had already received a fatal dose, as sickness was wracking his body. He reached down to his combat vest and pushed the send button for the mike attached there. "Headquarters.