Collins looked at her expressionlessly.
Sarah cleared her throat and then took out a small hammer and chipped away at the clay tile around the crystal. She finally managed to pop it free and held it in her hands.
“See, it’s been beveled into this shape—very efficient for amplifying light. It would have taken very little electricity to ignite this filament here.” She probed a small copper wire attached to a larger one running through the tiled wall.
“Electricity again?” Jack asked.
“Yes. These people were as active as ConEd.”
“If they were so smart, how come they didn’t have a train running down here?”
Sarah didn’t answer Jack’s question because she was thinking. Suddenly she pushed the light crystal into his hands and then ran to the back of one of the two-ton trucks and removed a spare battery from the back. She relieved Jack of the crystal and ripped free the thicker copper line, part of which was so old that it crumbled in her hand. She laid the crystal aside, opened up her battery-operated flashlight, and emptied the batteries out, then unscrewed the lens cap. She easily popped free the two small wires and then attached them to the copper line that ran chainlike to the other crystals embedded in the walls. Then she kneeled by the battery and hesitated. She split the flashlight wires farther apart until each end could reach a battery post and then she attached them.
Jack was amazed when the crystals in line lit up like a row of Christmas lights until they disappeared down the long tunnel.
“Uh, did someone trip the house alarm?” Everett asked over the radio.
Jack smiled and raised his radio. “Advance one, that’s a negative. We had one of our electricians just throw a breaker switch,” Collins answered, just as they heard and felt a rumble from below.
“Understood. Get your team moving. We just cleared the road down here, continuing on.”
Jack clicked his radio twice and ordered everyone to the vehicles. Then he looked at Sarah with his left brow raised.
“Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
She batted her eyelashes, smiled, and then moved off.
Jack shook his head and ran to his vehicle. He raised his radio. “Captain, we have to push it. Things are going to start going boom pretty soon.”
ATLANTIS
“You think this is a waste of time?” Tomlinson asked Caretaker without turning around to face him.
They watched the engineers clearing the last of the debris from the entrance to the Empirium Chamber.
“I have no comment one way or the other, sir.”
“Then why don’t you go eat some cheese and drink a glass of wine with the others?”
“I have no taste for such things.”
“Mr. Tomlinson, we are through the outer wall of the Empirium Chamber,” the lead engineer said as he removed his hard hat and wiped sweat from his brow. “We have four men inside setting up some klieg lighting; we still may have a very unstable situation in there. In addition, we may have found another extensive cave system under the building. My echo-sound people tell me it goes down at least a mile and a quarter.”
Tomlinson looked from the engineer to the set of twenty-foot-tall bronze doors that had bowed when the Empirium had collapsed. He could wait no longer. He ducked his head and entered the fifteen-thousand-year-old structure.
“Is he crazy? I told him it may be unstable,” the engineer said to Caretaker as he approached the Empirium.
Caretaker’s face was neutral as he looked into the blackness beyond the doorway. He had been watching Tomlinson closely ever since he had demolished his home in Chicago. The signs were small and had not been noticed by the others, but he had seen a change in the usually unflappable Tomlinson. When he spoke, his eyes moved too quickly from person to person, as if he was waiting for the first sign of disagreement from them. Caretaker believed that the pressure was mounting for the new Coalition leader. This seemingly obsessive desire to enter the old seat of the Atlantean government was just the latest. He smiled and looked at the engineer.
“Unstable may be the operative word,” he said to himself as he followed Tomlinson inside.
The large lights cast eerie shadows on the broken columns and marble that lay crushed beneath most of the collapsed ceiling. A few of his archaeologists and paleontologists started filtering in to look at this marvel of history.
Tomlinson had to smirk when Caretaker ran one of his hands across an overturned marble table and grimaced at the millennia of dust.
“I always said you could never trust a man that didn’t like getting dirty once in a while.”
Caretaker did not bother to look at Tomlinson. “Is that what you say? Well, here is what I say: I believe you should be working on finalizing this last assault of yours and not out sightseeing.”
“Can’t you feel it? Where else but here could the power of this civilization be governed but the Great Empirium of Atlantis?”
“If we don’t use the Wave soon, this just may be the only place you are allowed to govern.”
Tomlinson knew that Caretaker was right. With his new feeling of rejuvenation, he looked around one last time at the Empirium Chamber, not noticing the skeletal form at his feet or the broken marble tile that hid the secret entrance to the underground world beneath.
THE ATLANTEAN ACCESS TUNNEL
Fifteen thousand years of leakage had formed long stalactites that hung from the high ceiling, each dripping with water that found a way in through course rock and magma from the Mediterranean, two miles above their heads.
Sarah and the other scientists back at Group had been right: in the three hours they had been in the great tunnel, Carl and his SEAL teams had come across numerous parts of the outer islands—the three great rings that had guarded the capital. There were large and small pieces of great columns, bathhouses, petrified trees, and roadways, all interspersed with giant deposits of ancient molten rock that made the landscape they had come across look like vast lakes of rippling water. The upheaval and death throes of this civilization had been of such violence that Everett could only imagine.
The inefficient lights provided them with horrific views of the cataclysm. Skeletal remains were everywhere, half buried or crushed by the very island they had lived on. It was as if the place had folded up and over the capital, and then the whole mass had sunk to the bottom of the Mediterranean.
“Captain, you have to see this,” the SEAL lieutenant said as he approached. “This operation is done.”
Carl quickly saw the reason for his dire comment. Standing in front of them, blocking their way, were the entire outer edges of the city of Atlantis rising four hundred feet into the air. Their way was blocked.
THE WHITE HOUSE WASHINGTON, D.C.
The president was watching the C-SPAN coverage of the special UN meeting. He watched the Russian ambassador to the United Nations present their case.
As photos of the aircraft parts from the downed Boeing 777 were shown from an easel, he was reminded of the Cuban missile crisis, only this time it was the Russians who had the sympathy of the body politic. The president winced at the way his government had been set up.
“Our pull-back didn’t convince anyone. All it did was corner our men into a tighter situation than before. Now we have a million refugees on the roads south from Seoul, clogging up reinforcements, and at the first sign of an offensive move, which I am compelled to order, the Chinese will rush across the border just like in 1947.”
“We have to invite the Russians and Chinese in,” Niles said, looking at the president.
“What?”
“Our KH-11 is over the Med; when we hit Crete, we have to get the Russians and Chinese to watch what’s going on.”
“What makes you think they don’t have a spy bird over right now and just don’t care what we’re doing?”
“Because if they did, they would know our evidence is linked to what’s going on. They’re smart enough to see what is happening if it’s right there before their eyes. Mr. Pre
sident, if the Russians and Chinese really wanted to believe Kim or the evidence they have, they wouldn’t wait, they would have hit us already. They want to believe us.”
The president snapped off the television.
“You know what’s happening better than anyone. If I can get you into a room with the Russian and Chinese delegations and get a live feed to you, can you convince them? I mean really convince them?”
Niles removed his glasses and shook his head. “I can sure as hell try.”
205 MILES INSIDE THE ATLANTEAN ACCESS TUNNEL
Jack looked at the mountain of rubble before him strewn with giant boulders, parts of the island and most of a city or small village comprising its bulk. As he examined the wall before him, he even saw three of four ancient wooden ships.
“Before you ask, Jack, we don’t have enough explosive for a quarter of that thickness,” Everett said as he joined him at the blockage.
Collins looked at his watch. Forty-five minutes until the attack commenced. That meant that his element would not be able to relieve any of the pressure on the marines at the front door.
“I’m at a loss,” Jack finally said.
Sarah was staring at the massive roadblock. She examined the rubble that lined the tunnel from top to bottom, where most of one section of the island had crashed through the crust and into the bedrock of the seafloor. She then noticed one of the giant stalactites that hung from a massive broken column. She tilted her head as she watched the runoff of seawater from above as it added to the mineral deposit.
“I know that look. It says either you have to go to the bathroom or you have a serious thought,” Mendenhall said.
“Smart-ass,” she answered as she continued to watch the runoff above her. Her eyes went to the roadway and then followed the water as it disappeared somewhere ahead. “Come on, funny man.”
Mendenhall followed Sarah until they came to the inside wall of the tunnel. Sarah bent over, then went to her knees as she ran her hand over the broken cobblestone of the roadway thirty feet from the start of the blockage.
“These were a highly advanced people,” she said.
“Yeah, advanced enough to blow their continent to hell.”
“These tunnels were designed to run under the Med. What would they have to have installed to control the leaking? I mean, no matter what, if you tunnel under a body of water, you are going to have leaks. Just look at the Chunnel; the French and the British have major flood control built in.”
“Yeah, but I don’t get what you’re driving at.”
“Jack!” she stood and called out.
Collins saw Sarah thirty feet away and he and Everett trotted over.
“Make it quick, Lieutenant. In case you hadn’t noticed, we have a major problem here.”
“I think I’m aware of that. Carl, we have shape charges, correct?”
“No, but we have the training to create some conical charges, or directional explosions if that’s what you need.”
“Can we blow straight down?”
“Easy; but why would we want to?” he asked.
“I want to because I have faith in the engineering of the Ancients,” she answered, looking from face to face of the men standing around her. “What does every major city, every highway, have that controls water runoff?”
Jack smiled and Carl slapped his forehead.
“A sewer! These smart bastards had to control the leakage you have whenever you tunnel under a body of water. Jack, we go through the sewers! We don’t go through but under the blockage!”
Everett slapped the SEAL lieutenant on the shoulder and got him moving to bring up the explosives they would need.
“I guess we’ll have to thank the Atlantis Department of Water and Power,” Mendenhall said.
“Not bad, shorty, not bad at all,” Jack said to Sarah.
CASPER THE FRIENDLY GHOST THIRTY THOUSAND FEET OVER THE MEDITERRANEAN
The two B-2 stealth bombers made a wide turn to the south after their five-hour flight from Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean. Their part of the mission would look as if the opening phases of the attack had originated in Aviano, Italy, a vital, imperative deceit.
“Casper One Actual to Casper Two, thirty seconds to launch point.”
“Casper Two, copy, starting the music at five, four, three, two, one, bomb-bay doors opening on automatic.”
Their bom-bay doors of the two giant aircraft, which resembled bats, opened to reveal a darkened interior. The automatic carriage that held each of the twelve Tomahawk cruise missiles started turning like a rolling lottery drum. At the bottom of each cycle, a BGM-109 Tomahawk Special radar-manipulation weapon fell free. As each engine ignited, the stubby wings and tailfin popped free of the outer body. A split second later, a strong signal started to pulse through the dark sky ahead of them. In all, twenty-four weapons shot through the thin air on a course for Crete.
“Casper One to Thunder One Actual, Heckle and Jeckle flight is now airborne. Casper One and Two, RTB at this time, good luck, Thunder One.”
USS IWO JIMA
Marine General Pete Hamilton received the message from the lead B-2 and watched the night sky around the Iwo. The ship was coming to life in the early-morning hours. Tilt-rotor craft abovedecks along with sixteen Seahawk helicopters were spooling up their engines and the marine assault force was in the process of loading.
Belowdecks, the sea-assault force was loading onto the Landing Craft Air Cushion (LCAC). This would be a lightning strike. The LCAC was loaded with four fully manned armored assault vehicles, while the four M1 Abrams tanks would be deployed from the USS Nassau.
The general looked from his wristwatch to the captain of the Iwo.
“Order Cheyenne to attack,” he said far more calmly than he felt.
One hundred feet below the surface of the Mediterranean, Captain Burgess received the extremely low-frequency message (ELF) from the Iwo.
“Weapons officer, you have permission to launch vertical tubes one through twelve, empty ’em out. Diving officer, after launch, take us down to four hundred feet, heading two-three-zero at six knots.”
CATAPULT FLIGHT
Flying at wave-top level, the flight of ten F-22A Raptors from Aviano, Italy, screamed over the Mediterranean at Mach 1.5. The internal weapons bay of each stealth fighter was full of air-to-ground munitions.
ATLANTIS
Tomlinson was personally overseeing the placement of the Atlantean Key. He was so excited that he could barely contain his feelings. He even looked kindly upon Caretaker and the other Coalition members as they watched the final parts being calibrated. His smile faded when he was handed a topside report.
“Twenty-four? I guess we don’t rate any higher than that with all the trouble in the world. We were right: the Americans are spread too thin to adequately deal with us.”
“What is it, Mr. Tomlinson?” Dame Lilith asked.
“It seems we have become a nuisance to our American president after all. Radar has picked up a force of twenty-four fighters inbound from Aviano. They’re not even bothering to hide their presence.”
“I see. And your plan for this is—”
Tomlinson looked at Caretaker and smiled. “To destroy them, what else.” He turned away and raised his radio to his mouth, the whole time watching Professor Engvall install the Key. “Commander, defend the island; defend it vigorously, please.”
Above, former Soviet Air Force General Igor Uvilinski lowered his radio and looked at the radarscope one more time.
“The SAMs will strike first and then our Migs will take care of any American that makes it out alive,” he said, raising his field glasses to the camo netting three hundred yards away. “All air-defense units lock on to inbound targets and fire at will.”
Around the center of the island, twenty-five SAM batteries fired, as each of their missiles locked on to an incoming warplane.
A hundred miles south, following the exhaust trails of the SAMs as they streaked through the sky to meet
the foolish American pilots who so brazenly thought they could attack Crete without a fight, the lead flight of twenty Coalition MIG 31s based out of Libya saw the first of the antiair-craft missiles take out the first five targets. The lead pilot smiled under his mask. At this rate they would not have much to clean up.
As the flight leader watched the fighters break through the SAM screen, he became curious as to why they were not taking evasive maneuvers to avoid further contact—a decision that was very brave of them, but also very foolish.
“Lead, I have a visual on the targets. They are not American fighter aircraft—they are cruise missiles!”
The leader heard the call. He had been duped into believing that the cruise missiles were a fighter flight. As he thought this, he heard his missile-threat warning system go off with a piercing screech. He looked at his radar but it was clear. Where is this threat coming from? he asked himself.
At a hundred miles away from Crete, the flight of ten F-22A Raptors popped up from the ground clutter of the sea and fired off twenty AMRAMM missiles, then went low again and continued to streak toward Crete.
Before the lead pilot of the flight of MIGs knew exactly who and what was attacking them, AMRAMM missiles started to slam into the engines, wings, and fuselages of his squadron. The Americans had somehow enticed his men to attack what they thought was a poorly disguised flight of fighters, having their cruise missiles emit a high frequency “ghosting” as if they were manned aircraft, radar signature and all.
The pilot’s next thought never made it to the formation of a question in his mind as the lock-on tone became even more insistent just as he finally saw the telltale radar-guided AMRAMM. The flight leader’s MIG came apart exactly one minute after the attack had begun; after ten years of training and payment to an air force consisting of very well-paid mercenaries, the Coalition fighter squadron had ceased to exist.
Ancients: An Event Group Thriller Page 37