Kelly’s eyes widened. His heart raced as his mind sifting rapidly through this new information. “Do you realize what you have done?”
“Of course,” the professor replied.
“You dicks. Yo, André, turn on the radio!” yelled Kelly.
“What?” Tremaine looked confused and irritated that he had to take his eyes from the road. “We are coming up to Vegas.”
“For fuck sake, I’ll do it!” Kelly leaned between the seats and flicked on the radio.
“The situation appears to be the same in almost every major city across the state. Groups of religious vigilantes are destroying universities, educational centers, and government buildings. Hundreds of angry mobs are tearing through the city, trying to purify their land.
“Our top story again: secret government files have been leaked onto the Internet, apparently proving the existence of another life form on Earth that not only is more intelligent than us but may have even given us the intelligence we now have. At this point, the U.S. Government, NATO, and the Vatican have declined to comment other than to say they are reviewing the evidence.”
Kelly flicked the station.
“In other news, a hospital in downtown L.A. is struggling to contain a mysterious illness sweeping through the area. People are flooding into emergency rooms with blood pouring from their nose and eyes.”
Kelly switched off the radio. “You stupid, old, dumbass, short-sighted, fuckwits!” His anger boiled over. “What did you expect, huh? You’ve just undone two thousand years of fucking human history! You’ve simultaneously pissed off every religious nut as well as every gun-wielding, conspiracy-theory junkie and UFO, anal-probe-obsessed idiots on the planet. Not to mention, some kind of flesh-eating virus has been let loose. I mean, if they wanted to stop the release of information, why not shoot him?”
“Yes, they could have shot him. They shot his friend. But I think the Chinese are beyond covert ops now, don’t you? They just attacked us on our own soil. Releasing a virus is just another attack. They don’t care about stopping the info now. They care about obtaining K’in, the power, and destroying the only nation that stands in their way.” The General spoke in a flat tone. “As for K’in and the information we released, it’s about time humanity was enlightened. Coincidentally, the timing of everything is quite serendipitous. It’s 2012.” The professor looked smugly at Kelly.
“Are you talking about end of the world stuff? You fucking nut job!” Kelly was shaking with rage.
“Actually, that’s a misconception. The Mayan 2012 prediction is not one of Armageddon but the ending of one era and the birth of a new one. According to the Mayans, there have been five periods, or suns, in history. Right now, we are in the fifth sun, which is predicted to end in this year. And the children of the fifth sun will be no more.”
“You’re both fucking crazy! This doesn’t make any sense! Why bother getting fish-face out of the lab? Why not let him die in the blast?”
“K’in may be our only salvation. Our plan was to return him to a place where belief in his kind still exists, where they would treat him like a god and once again learn from him. With the rest of the world at war, destroying each other, K’in would be able to lift our race into the light. We hadn’t planned on the chaos until we had moved K’in and the object.” The professor spoke evenly.
“There is no way our government is party to this—you two have to be operating off the grid!” Freya was standing behind the professor. She had been listening the whole time, silently observing.
“That is true,” the General replied. “Our operation was so black-boxed that over the last sixty-five years we have become separated from the normal military hierarchy. We have seen too much. We had to take matters into our own hands.
“General... Benjamin,” Freya said. “I trusted you. You told us we were protecting America from the Chinese.” The words from her mouth were barely audible as the General’s treachery sank deep into her heart.
“No wonder you didn’t give a shit about showing us everything! You were going to expose it to the world anyway.”
“Well, only once we confirmed what the object was and what it does. It is very import—” The professor was cut off mid-sentence.
“I couldn’t give a tiny rat’s ass! So now what, geniuses? Huh? Where the fuck do we go now? Is that fucking illness to do with you, too?”
“The Chinese have been experimenting with weaponized Ebola-type viruses for a while. We didn’t think they would use them, but it seems our incursion has triggered a war. It’s gloves off for them. As for us, we were to rendezvous with a chopper on the way to Vegas and get airlifted right off the dirt road, but they’re late, and we have moved closer to the city than I wanted—”
The air around the group suddenly rose in temperature by ten degrees—the atmosphere became thick and hot. The General’s eyes widened as his instinct warned him of the impending danger, but his lips were too slow to make a sound in time.
The missile slammed into the side of the truck, exploding into a million fragments. A mixture of molten metal, scorching air, and unbridled energy distorted the left side of the cabin, ripping through the driver’s door. Tremaine screamed as shards of glass and slivers of metal sliced through his face and body. The cabin was pushed across the dirt track, lifted as if it were weightless. The group was tossed to the right side toward the sleeper section as the truck crashed onto its side and skidded through the dust. Then, silence.
Location: Truck wreckage, Nevada Desert, USA
Freya picked herself up from the ground. Every muscle in her body ached, and her head was ringing. The burning truck lay twenty feet from her, but the heat was still searing. She held her forearm to her head to shield her blackened face from the scorching flames. What had happened? Where was the rest of the team? Her clothes were torn and burnt but intact for the most part.
Her vision blurred through a mixture of concussion, smoke, and tears as she feebly scanned the horizon. Freya’s gaze fell on the broken frame of the General. Limping over to him, she dropped to her knees and grabbed him by his disheveled tunic. He groaned as she pulled him from a face-down position to face-up, his head lolling around like a newborn child’s. He didn’t look as strong or intimidating now. He looked old, tired—worn out.
“Benjamin ...”
The General pried his eyes open. “Freya, K’in—what happened to K’in?”
Freya scanned the horizon again. “I don’t know. I can’t see him or the others.”
“Freya, you have to finish this.” He coughed. “We have to end the cycle.”
“And do what, Benjamin? What am I supposed to do?” She welled up, her voice cracking. “I’m not saving Americans from the Chinese anymore.”
“No, you are saving the human race from itself. The world will tear itself apart. Nations will fight amongst themselves. The virus will kill many. You have to hide K’in.” He wheezed painfully. “Take this.” The General reached inside a pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Take K’in to these coordinates. These are not on any file or computer system. Only the professor and I know the location. You must hide K’in there. You will be safe, too.”
“But I don’t even know where K’in is!”
“The Ch ... Chinese have him.” The professor’s voice was weak.
Freya turned her head to see him lying flopped in Tremaine’s arms. The Shadow Man stood tall and strong against a backdrop of fire and molten metal, his face streaked with blood and ash. But his eyes were steeled and bright.
“I saw them take him and Kelly.”
“And the object?” the General asked, his voice weak.
“Gone. I had the object with me. It was smashed—destroyed. But that doesn’t mean ...” The professor hacked and rasped.
“Kelly—”
Freya was interrupted by the deafening sound of a landing helicopter. The rotors tore through the smoke-laden air, causing swirls of gray cinders to dance around the burning truck. The Chinoo
k landed with an unceremonious thud. Tremaine squinted to protect his eyes from the flying grit. Freya’s hair blew wildly about her face.
A pilot jumped down from the cockpit and ran toward the group. “I’m Captain Wiezorek,” he shouted over the din. “We couldn’t get here sooner.”
Freya looked at the General for approval of this newcomer. He nodded weakly.
“An unidentified chopper just screamed outta here, probably quite a few miles away by now, but can’t have gone far. It was only a short range chopper.”
“Thank you, Captain. Freya, go—finish it.” The General raised a charred arm and pointed at the attack helicopter.
Still on her knees, Freya looked at the General, then back at the helicopter, and then at Tremaine.
“Victoria?” she asked, hopefully.
The Shadow Man shook his head.
“Leave us here, me and Benjamin. We’ll just slow you down.” The professor tried to climb down out of Tremaine’s arms.
“I will stay here with them and radio for backup. You get in the chopper. A unit is inside. They can support you. If you want to follow that chopper, you are going to have to do it now.” The pilot hovered over the General, unsure if he was to stay or leave.
Freya glanced once more at the General. “Okay, c’mon.” She sprang to her feet, a new sense of purpose and direction coursing through her body. “Tremaine, you’re with me. Let’s get that fucking chopper.”
The Shadow Man’s eyes widened in surprise. It was the first time he had ever heard her curse.
“Benjamin, I’ll come back for you. I promise.” Freya placed a hand on his shoulder.
The General nodded weakly and waved his blackened hand toward the helicopter, urging her on.
Freya and Tremaine stormed toward the Chinook and climbed into the cargo hold through the side door. A team of at least ten soldiers sat in two lines either side of the hold area, staring at them. Each was dressed in black camouflage gear and sported integrated ballistic communications headgear. Most carried an M4A1 assault rifle or HK MP5 submachine gun.
“Okay, boys. Let’s do this.” Freya sat down next to one of the soldiers and strapped in. “Tremaine, tell the pilot that we got a chopper to catch.”
Tremaine nodded and disappeared into the cockpit.
The Chinook rose from the dirt road, whisking dust, ash, and grit into the air. Freya stared through the side door, watching the General and professor slowly get smaller and smaller. A soldier slid the door shut. They were on their way.
* * *
The desert sands slipped by. Endless golden dunes rippled and waved like an eerie ocean beneath them. Random bushes dotted the land but seemed to join together to form one long green streak as the Chinook gunned along. The sun was dipping down over the horizon, a blaze of orange and red bleeding outward into the fading blue sky like a paint drop on a watercolor canvas.
The noise of the rotors had become more of a hum now and was almost comforting to Freya. Staring out the window, it was difficult to concentrate on the job at hand. Too much was running through her head.
She had been thirteen when her parents died. Her godfather had taken her in. It was probably inevitable that she’d gone into the military, given his position. Benjamin had loved her, encouraged her, and kept her close. When she was fifteen, she’d been mugged by two older boys. They’d taken her purse and pushed her to the ground, scraping her knees. Tear-filled, she’d told Benjamin all about it as he dabbed iodine onto her wounds. That evening, he showed her how to break someone’s little finger and punch them in the solar plexus—an incapacitating move. She loved it. From that point on, no one touched her again.
Even through military school, when she’d been somewhat bullied by the male recruits, Benjamin had watched out for her—told her she shouldn’t stop being a woman just to fit in or lie low. Her strong personality would be an asset and get her noticed—get her ahead. Yes, Benjamin had never steered her wrong—until now. General Benjamin Lloyd. Why had he lied? Why had he kept things from her all this time? It had been eighteen years of lies. How had she been so blind? She shook her head. What difference did it make now? Everything was in chaos. Right now she had to save Kelly and K’in. That was her mission. Focus. Stay focused.
“Where are we going?” Tremaine’s question disrupted Freya’s train of thought. He sat opposite her amongst two SEALs who were busying themselves with firearm maintenance.
“Hawthorne base, Nevada,” Freya replied.
Tremaine frowned. “But infrared said their chopper went out to sea—why are we not going to San Diego naval base?”
“Their short-range chopper was headed to something out there—a ship or submarine. Since we are not picking up any ships, we have to assume it’s a stealth sub.”
He shook his head. That didn’t make sense. “Hawthorne is in the middle of the desert—why are we wasting time going there?”
“We can’t mount a rescue mission from this chopper, Tremaine. And what we need isn’t in San Diego.”
“But it’s in the desert?”
“Exactly.”
The Chinook banked hard left and swooped downward before coming to a near-dead stop just above a concrete landing pad.
“We’re here,” Freya said.
Freya and Tremaine heaved back the side door and jumped down onto the tarmac. The soldiers followed suit, spreading out into formation to provide a protective perimeter. As one unit, they moved slowly toward the bunker ahead of them. Each soldier watched his line and the soldier’s line next to him.
Tremaine swiveled his head back and forth, wondering if a missile would scream out of nowhere and hit him—again.
“Hawthorne makes and tests munitions. I don’t get it,” he protested.
She turned on her heel to face him. “Hawthorne does test munitions. You are correct. But it also is a place that develops and tests the most advanced stealth attack submarines in the world.”
“What? How? In the desert?”
“You don’t have clearance to know about this place but, given the situation we are in, protocol is hardly what we are concerned with right now.”
She turned back and kept on walking, talking the whole time. Tremaine followed, listening intently. The soldiers continued their vigil.
“The continental shelf from the west coast of the U.S. disappears under California; it’s like the state is floating on water. This shelf extends backward and meets a series of large tunnels and channels. Nearby Walker Lake helps to maintain the water table here, too. Hawthorne was built right over the top of a large cavern that is a focal point of many of these tunnels. We’ve been using this to develop advanced submarine technology for a long time and as a means of hiding our research. It’s a perfect way to conceal a sub—underground.”
“Okay.” Tremaine raised his eyebrows. After the last few days, he could believe most things.
“The tunnels reach from here to Monterey. We have a small attack sub, hard to pick up on sonar, which can reach up to forty knots. At that speed, we can make the west coast in about four hours. If my hunch is right, their sub will be hanging around in Monterey bay where it’s very deep.”
Tremaine just nodded again as they entered a small door in the side of a lonely, red stone building.
“Going down?” Freya chuckled at her own joke as she punched a code into the elevator keypad beside the sliding doors.
The Shadow Man’s stomach lurched as the lift plummeted downward. It halted with a jolt. The elevator doors glided open to reveal the inside of a cavern. Freya gazed around the massive fissure, absorbing every inch of its unexpected beauty. A fluorescent, violet light illuminated the walls and bathed the stalactite-covered ceiling in a peaceful lavender wash. A single row of chocolate brown stalagmites protruded from a massive lake. The black water was lit up and appeared to dance and sparkle with amethyst-colored fire. At the far end was a large platform and a variety of cranes and lifting devices that should have been incredibly ugly against the awe-ins
piring backdrop, but in the haze of the light, it looked as much a part of the scenery as the ancient rock.
Radiating around the walls were several pitch black holes. A few were only a few feet wide. Others were more than twenty. Each was too dark to peer into but was eerily inviting—an ancient labyrinth, thought Freya. A trap laid down millions of years ago.
Her gaze fell on Tremaine. He was not admiring the natural beauty of the cave but, instead, was fixated on the long, metallic structure that sat in the water next to the platform.
Tremaine stared at the submarine. From bow dome to propeller, it must have been nearly four hundred feet long. The prop was shielded by a large duct. The sail was huge, crowded with a variety of tall masts. Just before the aft rudder, a smaller, torpedo-shaped mini-submarine without a mast, sat perched on the hull of the main vessel.
“That’s the advanced SEAL delivery system, or ASDS. We could use dry deck shelters, but we find this more convenient.” A large Navy SEAL, clean shaven and crew cut, stood next to Tremaine, pleased as punch and beaming with pride as he described the vessel.
Tremaine nodded. “It’s impressive.”
“Yeah, and that’s the pump-jet propulsor for quieter operations.” He pointed at the covered propeller. “This thing here is the best of the best—based on the Virginia Class attack sub. She’s got all the bells and whistles. She can launch Tomahawk land-attack missiles from twelve vertical launch system tubes and Mark 48 advanced capability torpedoes from four twenty-one-inch torpedo tubes.”
Tremaine nodded again in approval.
“She’s designed to conduct covert, long-term surveillance of land areas, littoral waters, or other sea forces. She’s also capable of anti-submarine and anti-ship warfare, Special Forces delivery and support, and mine delivery and minefield mapping. With enhanced communications connectivity, she’s able to pick up signals our satellites can’t. She’s even got a pair of extendable, photonic masts outside the pressure hull. Each one contains several high-resolution cameras with light-intensification and infrared sensors, an infrared laser rangefinder, and an integrated Electronic Support Measure array. But the best bit is this one can reach forty knots. Ooh-wee, is she fast!”
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