Excalibur a5-6

by Robert Doherty

  Duncan’s throat was dry and she tried to talk but only a croak came out. The man went over to a sink and returned with a small paper cup of water, which he carefully pressed against her lips. Duncan drank the entire cup, and then he pulled it away and retook his seat.

  “Who are you?” she managed to get out.

  “Dr. Garlin. The more interesting question is who are you?” “Where am I?”

  “The new Area 51.”

  “And you’re the new Majestic.” Duncan swung her legs over the edge of the table and sat up, holding the sheet tight around her body. The pounding in her head was fading rapidly. Looking down, she could see that the various leads attached to her body went to the monitor and there was a band around her arm with an IV pressed through it.

  “Yes. That was a good guess.”

  “No guess,” Duncan said. “It makes sense.” She was looking about. “What kind of doctor are you?”

  “An MD. Specialization — cellular structure.” “You want to find out what happened to me.” “Yes.”

  She nodded slowly, her head pounding with pain. “So what happened to me?”

  “We have some ideas, but some of the data is still being processed.”

  “What’s the charter of the new Majestic?” she asked. She was shaking her head back and forth, trying to work out the lingering effects of whatever drug she’d been given.

  “The same as the old one,” Garlin said.

  “The old one didn’t work too well.”

  “It worked well enough for almost fifty years,” Garlin noted. “Where are the others? Turcotte? Quinn? Yakov?”

  “We don’t know. We had to”—he paused, as if searching for the right words— “shut down the old Area 51.”

  “Why?”

  “When Major Quinn had the CIA do a check on you, we were copied on the results, as we’ve been copied on everything going into Area 51. And you ask why we shut down Area 51?” He held up his hand as he ticked off reasons. “You’ve got Professor Mualama, who turns out to be a former Watcher — or is he former?

  “Yakov. A Russian. Section IV was destroyed — all except him. Pretty convenient. And he came back from Moscow with a bug planted on him.

  “Che Lu. Chinese. A country that now appears to be siding with Artad and preparing for war against both South Korea and Taiwan. And she just happened to be the first person to enter Qian-Ling in many centuries. How did she get permission from Beijing to do that when every other request was immediately turned down?

  “Major Mike Turcotte. Involved in a questionable incident while working counterterrorism in Europe. He was then recruited by you to spy on Majestic; which bring us to you. You didn’t even really know who you are, did you? And now you don’t know what you are.”

  When Duncan tried to stand, he politely but firmly pushed her back onto the table. “Not yet. You need to know what’s going on, so you understand what is at stake.”

  “I know what is at stake,” Duncan said.

  “Do you?” Garlin asked. “You don’t even know who you are or where you come from.” He leaned back slightly on the stool. “Do you know why the Airlia came to our planet in the first place so long ago? Why they fought, and continue to fight, a civil war? Why they were stranded here?”

  “Do you?” Duncan threw back at him, but her voice was less combative as she contemplated his questions.

  “Not yet, but we’re working on it. Aspasia’s Shadow just made an announcement to the UN. He claims the Airlia came here to help and protect us from another predatory alien species. Or at least Aspasia did. He says Artad is a deserter.” “Is that true?”

  “Are you willing to believe Aspasia’s Shadow?” “Not really.”

  “We’re taking a bigger view than the previous Majestic, especially as we know so much more than they did. We think understanding the Airlia would be pretty helpful in the current situation. Allowing us to act, rather than constantly react.”

  “How did you come into existence?” Duncan asked.

  Garlin briefly stroked his short white beard as he considered her question. “We want you to understand the situation. We want you to cooperate. So far your actions have appeared to be loyal to our country, so we hope that if you believe what you hear, you will continue to be loyal to the best of your abilities.

  “When the primary Majestic-12 was compromised by the guardian they discovered in South America at Temiltepec and the security of Area 51 breached, a plan that had been prepared over forty years previously was put into effect. For every member on the Majestic-12 committee, there has always been a backup selected. We”—he tapped his own chest— “had no idea we filled these positions, but apparently we were picked by the twelve primary Majestic members from within their own organizations based on detailed psychological profiles that practically assured we would be willing to step up and assume the primary roles once we were informed. The fortunate thing was that we were picked before the primary Majestic-12 was compromised by the guardian computer, so those chosen were chosen because they were projected to be loyal to the original charter for Majestic.

  “It has worked as planned. Even as Majestic was being broken apart, with members dead or under indictment, twelve of us received a top-secret CD-Rom by special courier sent from the NSA vault. On each disk was a detailed report of Majestic’s formation by presidential decree during Eisenhower’s administration and a summary of its subsequent actions over the years along with all that had been discovered about the Airlia and their artifacts.

  “Of course, there was no information about Majestic’s corruption after uncovering the guardian computer at Temiltepec in South America and bringing the alien computer back to Dulce. Still, the basic decree Eisenhower had given the original MJ-12 rang true to those of us who received the CDs — protect America at all cost from alien influence.” Duncan was silent, listening.

  “We gathered a week ago at the designated time and location indicated on the CD — a small airfield outside New Orleans. A tilt-wing Osprey landed, and the back ramp opened up. There was no one in the cargo bay and the door to the cockpit was locked. We got on board and the plane immediately took off. It flew out over the Gulf of Mexico, staying just above the waves to stay off radar. The engines rotated up and we finally landed on board what appeared to be an abandoned oil rig, about a hundred miles from the nearest shore. The ramp opened, we got off, and the plane was back in the air and flying away.

  “There was no one there. But we followed the directions on the CD, punched in the correct code on a keypad, and got into an elevator on one corner of the rig. It went down the one leg of the rig to the ocean floor, where an undersea habitat — this place — was attached. The new Area 51.”

  “How far down are we?” “Three hundred feet.”

  “And you have contact with the outside world?

  “A secure contact via satcom up top on the rig to the NSA. However, we’re keeping quiet so far, just listening. We want to determine a valid course of action before we do anything.”

  “How come you didn’t contact us at the old Area 51?” Duncan asked.

  Garlin shook his head. “You still don’t understand, do you?” He pointed at her. “We don’t know who you are. We don’t know whom at the old Area 51 we could trust. We’re starting over with a clean slate.

  “So far, we’ve done little other than try to keep track of the rapid flurry of events around the world. But when we received a report from the old Area 51 about what had happened to you, we acted swiftly, issuing orders with our presidential authorization.”

  “So you’ve kidnapped me,” Duncan said. “Seems like something the old Majestic would do.”

  “The old Majestic protected America for almost fifty years,” Garlin said. “Now it’s our turn. And we want to be very careful that we don’t get compromised like they did. We might be the last best hope for mankind.”

  “Why haven’t you done anything?” Duncan demanded. “Why have you been hiding here while we fought the al
iens?”

  Garlin tapped her on the knee. “Because we were waiting for you. You’re the key. You’re immortal now. If we can figure out what happened to you, we think we can win this war and not just the next battle.”

  Jerusalem, Israel

  The holiest city in the Christian world had never known such a gathering of people in the streets. The route had been announced on the news the previous evening and people had begun staking claim to a spot immediately, the numbers swelling through the night. Tens of thousands came in from the surrounding country as word spread.

  Jerusalem was, in reality, several cities with a clear distinction between sections. The Christians flocked to the northwest, where the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was located, built over the site where Jesus was executed and the holiest place in Christendom. The northwest was Muslim territory, where the Dome of the Rock was located, the third most holy place in Islam, where the Prophet Muhammad made his ascent into heaven. In the southwest corner of the city were the remnants of the temple built by Solomon. Called the Wailing Wall by outsiders, the Jewish people preferred to call the area the Temple Mount. Ironically, on top of the mount is the al Aqsa mosque.

  Like many others, Simon Sherev had traveled to Jerusalem when he heard the news. His duties at Dimona were minimal now that the nuclear weapons were staged forward. The country was on a war footing, like most in the world, and security was tight in the city. Sherev’s clearance allowed him to get close to the open area in front of the Wall. The massive stone blocks towered above him and he noted that in keeping with tradition the women were on the right side, the men on the left. Sherev remembered the first time he’d been on that very spot, many years previously. It was a tradition that new recruits in the Israeli army made a forced march of over one hundred miles, ending at the Wall. That day Sherev had been profoundly moved, but looking back, he wasn’t sure whether it was reaching the Wall or the fact that his training had been over.

  To the left of the Wall was a stone gallery. He could see elite members of a counterterrorist unit guarding the entrance to where the Ark of the Covenant was being held. He could also see a large cluster of television reporters and their cameras nearby. Hasher Lakur was standing in a bright circle of lights, being interviewed. The fool, Sherev thought. Publicizing the Ark was one thing, but doing it there, in the most divided city in the world, was insanity.

  He wondered how Lakur was explaining the Ark. Was he claiming it truly was the Ark of the Covenant that Moses had carried out of the captivity? In a way, that was true, but it was also true the Ark was an Airlia artifact. How would that go over? Sherev wondered. It was a desperate gambit at a desperate time. Sherev had seen the intelligence reports about the various Arab countries mobilizing. Could they finally bring together the jihad they had always failed to complete? Or would they fall on each other like jackals? Would showing the Ark unify long-suffering Israelis or sow fatal doubts?

  The media circle around Lakur broke up and he went through the narrow gate into the holding area. Sherev estimated there were at least a hundred thousand people watching and he knew the video was being beamed to millions more. The security personnel had to link arms to keep the crowd back. Sherev noted the snipers posted along the top of the Wall scanning the crowd. He could hear the sound of helicopters in the distance and he imagined that several Cobra gunships were on standby.

  A hush ran over the crowd as several rabbis came out of the gate. They were followed by a man dressed in the high priest’s robes they’d recovered from the Mission in Mount Sinai. A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd as many recognized the garb: a white linen robe underneath a sleeveless blue shirt — the meeir — on top of which went a coat of many colors; a breastplate encrusted with precious stones, and on his head a crown of three metal bands. It was an impressive uniform, but everyone’s attention shifted from the priest to the next group coming out of the gate. Four men stepped forward, two on each wooden pole, and between them they carried something large covered in a white cloth.

  Even Sherev, an avowed cynic who had seen the Ark of the Covenant, was impressed. Maybe Lakur was right. He could feel something in the crowd as they watched the men carry the covered Ark to a table set just in front of the Wall. They set it down, then pulled the poles out of the metal loops. The priest stood in front of the Ark, arms raised, saying prayers.

  Sherev frowned. A helicopter was coming closer, the sound intruding on the absolute silence of the crowd, the echo of the priest’s words off the Wall. The priest reached out and slowly pulled the cloth off.

  The Ark was three feet high and wide, by four feet long. The surface was gold- plated. On the arched lid were two cherubim-sphinxes shaped exactly like the Great Sphinx and the Black Sphinx that was hidden underneath it. Sherev knew they were part of the Ark’s security system, but they only functioned if the Grail was inside. Since Aspasia’s Shadow had taken the Grail to Easter Island, the ruby-red eyes remained dark.

  The damn helicopter was getting even closer, somewhere just over the Temple Mount, Sherev’s experienced ears told him. He looked up. A Cobra gunship came sweeping in, just clearing the top of the wall, then nosing over.

  The pilot made no attempt to pull out of the dive. It slammed into the space just in front of the Wall. The Ark, the priest, the rabbis, all were enveloped in the fireball.

  Everyone within a hundred meters of the crash site was killed. Sherev was knocked backward by the blast as he struggled to his feet. He ran forward shouting orders, passing dismembered bodies, a sight he had seen before many times in Jerusalem. He pulled a radio off one of the bodies and began issuing orders.

  His Blackhawk helicopter appeared over the Temple Mount and descended, blades blowing the flames outward and clearing a space right over where the Ark had been — and still remained, Sherev realized, the artifact lying unscathed on the ground. He issued further orders and the Blackhawk landed next to the Ark. The side door slid open and the crew chief jumped out with a survival blanket in his hands, joining Sherev next to the Ark. Together they threw the blanket over the Ark, then carried it on board the chopper. Another crew member ran over to the body of the priest. The man was dead, exposed flesh burned, but the garments were untouched. He grabbed the body and dragged it to the chopper, wrestling it on board.

  “Take off. Now!” Sherev ordered the pilot.

  Pearl Harbor

  Captain Lockhart was in the shore command and control center of Pacific Fleet Command and could see on the large display radar the ships rapidly leaving Pearl Harbor in response to her warning. She glanced at the red dot moving swiftly on the screen to the southwest. Numbers below the dot indicated twenty minutes before the strange contact arrived. She knew the capital ships, including the carrier Kennedy, had been the first through the channel and into the open sea, turning west at flank speed as soon as they were clear.

  Admiral Kenzie had given shore command to her. She’d almost laughed when he’d told her that before catching his helicopter ride out to the Kennedy. The glass ceiling against both her color and her sex had suddenly disappeared so that she could take charge.

  “We have air contacts, rapidly closing,” one of the radar personnel announced. A second later, another red dot appeared on the screen, farther to the southwest, but moving more quickly than the submerged contact.

  “I thought the carriers were out of range?” she asked. The markings in the bottom right corner of the status board indicated how far away the two captured aircraft carriers were and Lockhart knew the basic statistical data for the planes those ships carried.

  There was no answer. Lockhart realized that it was a foolish question. The alien forces were beyond the bell curve of normal military action.

  “Launch what we have to interdict,” she ordered.

  From Wheeler Air Force Base, Kaneohe Marine Air Base, and other fields around the island, all the planes that couldn’t be loaded onto the Kennedy scrambled and headed to the southwest. There were thirty-five planes in the mak
eshift squadron — a mixture of F-15s, A-6 Corsairs, and a few F-16s and F-18s.

  Lockhart sat down in the command chair and watched war being played out on a large computer display.

  Airspace, Pacific

  The two groups of planes closed on each other faster than four times the speed of sound. The encounter was brief and brutal. Each side had one shot and at the speeds they were flying, they were in range and then past each other in less than a minute. Twelve American planes were destroyed and twenty Alien craft.

  As the remaining twenty-three American planes turned, the Alien squadron was already a hundred miles past them and closing on Hawaii.

  Pearl Harbor

  Lockhart could see the red dot closing, the blue giving futile chase. The other red symbol representing the submerged contact was less than twenty-five miles off the coast. The last ship of Task Force Nimitz had cleared the harbor and was heading west.

  She realized that both Alien forces — submerged and airborne — would arrive simultaneously. She felt as if she were in a dream — a nightmare — watching the dots approach on the screen. She got out of the chair and headed for the stairs.

  She went up to the roof of the PAC-FLEET command building, overlooking Pearl Harbor.

  There was a tinge in the eastern sky, indicating dawn was approaching. She blinked as two dozen Patriot missiles roared out of their silos from mobile launchers parked less than a mile away along the edge of Wickam Field.

  She watched the long, bright rocket tails of fire race to the southeast. There were several flashes on the horizon as a handful of the Patriots struck home. She knew the bogeys were less than a minute out. She glanced toward the harbor. Nothing.

  She heard the jet before she saw it. It came in low, less than twenty feet above the rooftop. There was a small flash, as it was right overhead. Lockhart twisted her head to follow the jet as it went inland, gaining altitude. She felt something on her upturned face.

  Then she began screaming as the nanovirus tore in through her skin into the bloodstream.