Artifact

by Vaughn Heppner

  The three camouflaged soldiers sat inside with the head-bandaged man. Selene scooted in and the woman with the white lab coat forced her to scoot into the middle so she could enter.

  There were three rows so there was more than enough room for them. Ney climbed into the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition so the engine purred smoothly.

  Using the rearview mirror, Ney waited until Selene’s gaze met his. “Soon you will be just like me,” he said.

  “What?” Selene asked, the word coming out like a hoarse cough.

  “Quiet,” the white-coated woman said. She spoke with a heavy accent and with authority. “We must hurry now. The last agent has almost reached the oasis.”

  “One of them is still alive?” the head-bandaged man asked.

  “Keep him quiet,” the woman said.

  “Listen, woman,” the bandaged man said. It was all he had time to say before one of the soldiers pressed a stun rod against him. The head-bandaged man groaned painfully.

  “Easy,” the woman told the soldier. “We don’t want to damage him.”

  The soldier removed the rod, although he held it ready for another touch. Maybe for the good of everyone in the SUV, the head-bandaged man didn’t give the soldier another reason to shock him.

  Through the rearview mirror, Selene noticed Ney giving her a significant glance. Then the Frenchman chuckled as he put his foot on the accelerator, heading for the warehouse’s exit.

  -45-

  SIWA OASIS

  Jack rested in the shade of an olive tree. He’d made it to the oasis. He was thirsty, hot and tired. On his monitor, he noticed that they were moving Carter again.

  Wherever they’re taking him, I bet that’s where they mean to trap me.

  He watched until they stopped. The process took another ten minutes, which was fine with him, as Jack needed the rest. The spot…was three miles from here.

  Wearily, Jack climbed to his feet, slung the Russian rifle onto his shoulder and limped toward the destination. Underneath his pants, he wore a bandage on his left hip and had dried blood on his fingertips. He’d dug out the bug and wrapped it in a piece of cloth, which he had shoved into one of his pockets. After several steps, his pace smoothed out, the self-inflicted wound no longer bothering him as much.

  Because of the rifle and the AT4, he risked someone spotting him and calling the Siwa police. Thus, he stayed in the shadows, keeping in the groves when he could. Twice, he passed irrigation water. He wanted to drink, but he didn’t trust it. Better to wait until he could find drinkable water. Otherwise, he risked stomach cramps or worse.

  This was a gamble all right. The enemy was quite possibly better than he was, certainly better prepared and held every tactical advantage. So be it.

  As Elliot trekked, he ate some food, hummed an old rock song to build up his morale and thought about drinking an ice-cold, American restaurant glass of water, the kind with big ice cubes and condensation on the sides. He looked around constantly. The Siwa Oasis was a pretty bleak place. It was too hot and had too much sand. He wondered when the enemy would try to spring their trap against him.

  One thing kept troubling Elliot. Why bring antimatter way out here? Was this the destination or was this the safest place D’erlon could think of to store antimatter?

  How had they escaped the French inspection? They couldn’t have torn down the antimatter-making equipment fast enough, could they?

  Jack shrugged. How they had done it didn’t matter, not out here anyway. Instead, he needed to figure out a way of rescuing Carter with five rifle bullets, twenty .45 shots and an AT4.

  Talk about improvising.

  Jack checked his watch. He had a little over two and a half miles to show time, if he was right about their springing the trap at that location. Whichever way he sliced it, soon now, the enemy was going to make his move.

  -46-

  MASTER BUILDING

  SIWA OASIS

  The brick structure looked out of place in the oasis. It was a squat, two-story monstrosity with an attached garage. The SUV didn’t go into the garage, but stopped in front of the main building.

  At the woman’s orders, everyone climbed out.

  Selene studied the ugly modern structure. It could have belonged in any American professional park. It didn’t have any windows, although it had a two-door entrance with a sidewalk leading up to it. On either side of the sidewalk were well-watered flowers.

  “What is this place?” Selene asked Ney. “Why am I here?”

  “I like her curiosity,” Ney told the lab-coated woman.

  The tall woman with blond hair shook her head. She was pretty in a severe way, like a Nordic dominatrix, with her hair pulled back in a way that accentuated her eyebrows.

  The soldiers helped the brown-skinned American.

  The group headed up the sidewalk, Ney walking behind Selene with the Nordic woman in front. The woman produced a key, unlocking a glass door.

  “Is anyone else here?” Selene asked.

  Ney prodded a knuckle against her back. “No more talking for now, mademoiselle. It will all become clear soon enough. Then, we shall be asking you all manner of questions.”

  The Nordic woman turned around, staring at Ney.

  The Frenchman grew quiet.

  They entered a stifling hot main lobby. The woman strode to a set of wall controls, her fingers playing upon them. In seconds, a powerful generator roared into life powering a massive conditioning system that blew cool air into the lobby.

  “Ney,” the woman said.

  The Frenchman went to the American.

  “You know what to do,” the woman told the three soldiers.

  The sergeant nodded, taking out a flat device that looked like a tablet. The other two pulled out long-barreled pistols with silencers.

  The Nordic woman checked her watch. “One hour,” she said. “Then we need to be on the road.”

  Ney pushed the head-bandaged American ahead of him. The blond woman marched behind Selene, shoving her in the back, propelling her after the two men.

  The group moved to an elevator, Ney pressing a button. It pinged shortly, opening. All four of them moved inside. They rode the elevator up a floor, entering a huge, spacious area that looked like a cross between a science lab and vast dentist’s office.

  “Sit there,” the blond woman told Selene.

  Dutifully, Selene sat down on an end chair. There were two rows with six chairs in each.

  The woman regarded Selene. “There is no escape for you. If you resist, I will make the process more painful than it has to be.”

  “How about giving me some idea about what’s going on?” Selene asked.

  “Questions are a form of resistance,” the Nordic woman said. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Selene didn’t like the woman, but she nodded.

  “We’ll start with the agent,” the woman said.

  Ney pushed the American toward a dentist-like chair. Even with his hands tied behind his back, the American resisted. Ney pulled out a buzzer, pressing it against the man’s neck.

  The American shouted with agony.

  “Shall I do it again?” Ney asked cheerfully.

  The American tried to turn around. Ney pressed the buzzer against him again. This time, the American cried out, collapsing onto the floor.

  The woman gave Ney a withering glance.

  Ney tried to lift the American back onto his feet. The man was obviously too heavy. The woman strode near. She grabbed an arm and gave Ney a look. The Frenchman grabbed the other arm. They hauled the American to his feet, dragging him toward the chair.

  After they had deposited him in it, Ney took out a small blade and cut the hand-ties. The two worked fast, locking thick restraints around the man’s ankles, thighs, wrists, biceps and chest, securing him to the chair.

  Selene swallowed in a dry throat. She watched carefully, knowing it would be her turn next.

  The woman selected a long, rolling, waist-high machine from a
group of medical equipment stored in the room and pushed it near the chair. She spread her fingers, rotated her shoulders and began to manipulate the controls as if she was a pianist, clicking switches and pressing buttons.

  Several things began to happen at once. A large circular device lowered from the ceiling until it was in front of the unconscious American’s face. Other large parabolic dishes surrounded him on all sides.

  By craning her neck from her location, Selene could still see the agent behind the man-sized dishes.

  “Give him the injection,” the woman said.

  Ney went to a table, selecting a syringe full of blue substance. The drug he’d injected into the Iranians earlier had been yellow. He marched to the American, swabbed the man’s neck, pushing the needle in far too deeply it seemed to Selene.

  The American’s eyes snapped open. He struggled to move.

  “No!” the woman said.

  The American didn’t listen to her but struggled harder.

  She hurried from around her console, grabbing the American’s head, holding him immobile. Ney shoved the needle’s plunger, putting the blue substance into the man.

  “What are you doing to me?” the American shouted.

  “Calm yourself,” the woman said sternly. “It will soon be over.”

  The American swore at her. She merely observed him. The brown-skinned man began to rave, spitting at the Nordic woman, shouting obscenities.

  The woman turned to Ney, smiling. For once, Ney didn’t seem amused.

  “No jokes or quips for the occasion?” the woman asked.

  The Frenchman said nothing.

  The woman shrugged, going back to her console.

  The American’s curses had dwindled and then turned slurry. His eyelids fluttered, and he moaned.

  “Does it matter if he has a concussion?” Ney asked with seeming worry.

  “It will help speed the process,” the woman said. “Now, make sure the geologist doesn’t interfere.”

  Ney strode to Selene, standing guard.

  It shocked Selene that the woman knew she was a geologist. That’s when she knew beyond a doubt. These had to be the same people who had been in the Indian Ocean, the same who ran the underwater dome. The mystery of the dome tickled her curiosity even here.”

  What would the underwater dome reveal to her? Would it be magnificent or diabolical?

  “It is time,” the woman said. She manipulated her console. A painful whine began from the parabolic dishes surrounding the American. The noise rose until it was like a toothache to Selene’s ears. Bright colored lights appeared on the dish before the American’s face.

  His curses cut off altogether. He sat slackly in his prison chair, staring glaze-eyed at the lights.

  “Is she trying to hypnotize him?” Selene whispered.

  Ney gave Selene a sharp look.

  At that point, the American screamed. It was loud and drawn out.

  “What is she doing to him?” Selene shouted over the noise.

  “Nothing that isn’t going to happen to you in a few minutes,” Ney said in the oiliest voice that Selene had ever heard.

  The American screamed again as if he was getting his mind torn out by the roots. It was vile.

  The colored lights swirled faster. Then they flashed in bizarre patterns. It hurt Selene’s eyes from here. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like right in front of her face.

  The American thrashed in his chair and howled like a lost soul.

  Tears sprang to Selene’s eyes. This was madness. She had to get out of here but couldn’t. She was trapped, next in line to lose her mind, it seemed.

  -47-

  OLIVE GROVE

  SIWA OASIS

  Jack saw a man in camouflage gear working through the olive tree shadows toward him. Jack spied the long-barreled pistol with a sound suppresser screwed onto the end.

  This was interesting. How many of them were there? That would be the biggest determinant to the outcome. If the enemy had a platoon of soldiers, Jack knew he didn’t have a chance.

  Jack’s mouth was bone dry. He was already tired and he was very much alone.

  “Okay,” he whispered.

  Elliot dug the bloody cloth with the tracking chip from his pocket. He shoved it against the base of this tree. This was an excellent spot from which to fight, so they would believe he’d hide here. It also had enough of a shallow area that one of them would have to crawl here to see the cloth.

  Jack backed away, his trap baited with their technological advantage. As carefully as possible, he crept through the shadows, taking up a position fifty yards away with a clear field of fire at the baited spot.

  Then, Jack waited.

  Seven minutes later, he saw one of them again. The camouflaged man crawled through the dirt with his suppressed pistol held in front of him. They must have decided he wasn’t coming in the rest of the way. Did they speak to each other?

  Yes. Jack saw the man’s mouth move. Likely, the commando had a throat-microphone and earbuds.

  Lying down, Jack slowly worked the bolt action, sliding one of the precious bullets into the chamber. He had five, all of them in the magazine and now with one in the chamber. He lacked a sound suppresser. This rifle would make a loud noise and they would know exactly where he was once he fired.

  He had five shots to take out the enemy commandos. Once he was down to the .45, he wouldn’t have any range advantages.

  Ah. He saw enemy number two. Neither of them appeared to have a monitor to spy his bug. That meant—

  Okay. There was a commando with a monitor. The man stood, peering from around a tree. Elliot kept searching, but he didn’t see anyone else. Three against one, those were hard odds but within the realm of the possible.

  Jack only had iron sights. He would have liked a scope. Then again, the drop from the helo would have jarred a scope. He’d fired several rounds at the helicopter. That hadn’t been enough for him to get used to the Russian rifle, but it was enough to give him a good idea of the weapon’s capabilities.

  One more time, give me one more—

  The commando with the monitor leaned around the tree again, peering at the baited spot.

  Jack aimed the rifle and squeezed the trigger—the rifle went off with a loud report. The butt kicked against his shoulder as the leader stumbled behind the tree. Jack reached up, moved the bolt action, retargeted and fired at a prone commando staring in his direction. The man relaxed as if going to sleep. The problem for the man was he would never wake up again, not with that hole in his head.

  Jack repeated the bolt-action motion.

  The remaining commando fired at him. The front of the long-barreled pistol rose, came down, rose, came down, rose—slugs whined past Jack’s head. One thudded against a tree trunk, another knocked Elliot’s cap off his head.

  Jack returned fire twice. The commando scrambled up and dove to the side. A Russian round spat debris from an exposed tree root. The other slug had missed.

  Four shots are gone. This is my last one. Got make it count.

  Jack slithered from his position to a new one.

  The commando reappeared from behind the exposed tree root, snapping off several rounds before ducking back behind it. The man’s slugs spit dirt from where Jack had been.

  The commando came up again.

  Jack’s rifle cracked, and a hole appeared in the commando’s forehead. The man disappeared from view behind the root.

  I’m out, Elliot thought. He set down the rifle. He was thirstier than ever, his tongue beginning to feel swollen. Even so, his heart pounded. He knew what he had to do. Five bullets were far too few to take out three trained soldiers. If he thought about this too long—

  Elliot scrambled to his feet and sprinted as fast as he could toward the commando with the monitor. As Jack ran, he drew his .45, flipping off the safety. He didn’t think he had much time. He—

  The other commando reappeared. Blood poured from the side of his head. Jack had hit him a
ll right, but not put him down. The commando had already been raising his weapon when he appeared. Jack watched the trigger finger. It pulled back, and Elliot knew this was it. The commando had him dead to rights.

  Only nothing happened. No fire spewed from the barrel. No slug tore into Jack.

  The commando had a dud. God did me a favor.

  That gave Jack enough time to line up his .45. The first shot tore bark out of the tree. The second slammed into the man’s side, throwing him away from the tree, staggering him out of shadow and into the sunlight. Two more trigger pulls put two slugs into the commando’s head. Jack had wondered if they wore combat vests, that was why he hadn’t been trying for body shots. The commando catapulted onto the soil.

  Jack hid behind a tree, waiting. His gun was loud. If others were around, they knew exactly where he was. Lowering himself to his knees and then his belly, Jack crawled to a new position. He scanned the shadows, straining to see or hear the enemy.

  Nothing moved. What did that mean?

  Jack waited several more minutes. Could he have already slain the squad sent to take him down?

  He had a feeling this was it for the moment. No more commandos were out here with him. He’d beaten the helo and now these soldiers. He had to consider round three with the enemy.

  Checking his watch, Jack saw that Carter was in the same location, which was very close.

  Cursing softy, Jack crawled for the nearest dead commando. He found the corpse in the shadows and figured they were almost the same size. As quick as he could, Jack stripped the dead man of the camouflage gear. He worked fast, taking off his own shirt, shoes and pants.

  Elliot hated having to get dressed fast like this. It reminded him when he used to play hockey in his youth. His dad had always been late getting him to the games. That meant Jack had to don his equipment with everyone else waiting on him. Tying the skates’ laces used to make his fingers tingle with anticipation. It was like that now with the camouflage gear.