Excalibur a5-6

by Robert Doherty

  And Mualama — Turcotte frowned as he looked at the African archaeologist. His initial impression of fear and anxiety from those inside didn’t extend to Mualama, who appeared quite unconcerned about recent events. A metal briefcase was at his feet and Turcotte assumed that it held Burton’s manuscript.

  “What have I missed?” Turcotte asked. “Major?” he said in a sharper voice, getting Quinn’s attention.

  Quinn answered. “I’ve got no contact with anything at Area 51 and—”

  “The equipment was destroyed and everyone left there arrested,” Turcotte said succinctly. “Area 51 is shut down. Who did it?”

  “Uh—” Quinn was flustered. “I don’t know.”

  “They were Americans,” Turcotte said. “Were they under the influence of Guides?”

  “They were military,” Quinn said.

  “Acting under whose orders?” Turcotte pressed.

  “They had an ST-6 clearance,” Quinn said. “I’ve accessed the NSA and copied some of their transmissions.”

  “We have an ST-6 clearance,” Turcotte said. “Who else has one?” “We had an ST-6,” Quinn said. “Not anymore.”

  “Who else has one?” Turcotte asked again.

  “Majestic — and us after them — were the only groups that had one as far as I know,” Quinn said. “ST-6 was invented by Eisenhower specifically for Majestic so they could operate in case of alien attack.”

  Yakov was nodding as if this made perfect sense. “So there’s another Majestic.”

  “Why do you think that?” Kincaid asked.

  “Because that’s the way covert organizations operate,” Yakov told him. “Always have a backup. Which also means if they were willing to destroy Area 51, that there is another Area 51 somewhere where they’re operating from and where they’ve taken Duncan.”

  Turcotte listened to the Russian and agreed with the logic, but he also thought that would require a hell of a lot of efficiency on the part of the US government, something his years of service had indicated didn’t happen often. He was tempted to ask Yakov where the backup for Section IV was, but refrained. “What is our backup?” Kincaid asked.

  No one answered that.

  “Aspasia’s Shadow sent a message to the UN,” Quinn said. He turned his computer around so they could gather and look at the screen. The message played through to the end, then Quinn closed the top.

  “Truth and lies mixed together” was Yakov’s summation. “The issue is — which was which?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Turcotte said.

  “Why not?” Yakov asked.

  “Because Aspasia’s Shadow isn’t really human,” Turcotte said. “And Artad definitely isn’t. We could spend the rest of our lives trying to figure this crap out, but that’s the bottom line. Even if Aspasia came here long ago to protect the planet, it might be a case where the cure was as bad as the disease. He certainly hasn’t been a friend of mankind over the millennia. Nor has Artad.” Turcotte remembered something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the medical papers he’d taken from the clipboard and handed them to Quinn. “I want you to check these.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are we going to stay here in the desert forever?” Yakov asked.

  “We can’t trust the government,” Turcotte said, “so we’re going to have to go to a place where we can trust who is in charge.”

  “And that place is?” Yakov pressed.

  “Head for North Carolina,” Turcotte ordered Quinn.

  “And then?” Yakov asked. “Do you persist in searching for Ms. Duncan?” Turcotte stared at the Russian, meeting his gaze. The silence lasted several seconds. “She’s not a priority right now.”

  Yakov nodded. “That is a good decision, considering we don’t even know who she is.”

  “We do what we planned on doing. The Master Guardian and Excalibur. Nothing’s changed.”

  Yakov raised a bushy eyebrow. “How can you say that?”

  “We’re alive,” Turcotte said. “We’ve got a bouncer. We’ve got all our data. We’re still in business.” He looked around at the others. “Everyone agree? I think it is what Che Lu would advise us to do.”

  Slowly the other four nodded.

  “Good. Let’s get going, then.”

  Strait of Taiwan

  The naval battle in the Strait of Taiwan was over quickly. The Taiwanese navy fought bravely but had never expected to face the brunt of the Chinese navy without any American aid, despite the lack of a standing treaty. There had been a tacit assumption among the ranking officers of Taiwan’s military that an aggressive move by the mainland would be met by a strong response from the United States and Japan simply in light of those countries protecting their own interests in the Far East. The Americans simply had no forces to deploy. The Japanese were quiet, calling up their reserves but keeping all their forces inside their borders.

  The air battle was lasting longer, but the Chinese commander didn’t wait to gain complete air superiority. The invasion fleet set sail across the hundred-mile-wide stretch of water, every ship packed with troops. Overhead, Chinese rockets, guided by technology stolen from the West, roared through the air. Massive explosions peppered key military targets throughout the island. Half the rockets, though, were aimed at population centers to spread fear and panic. Their warheads contained chemical and biological weapons of mass destruction.

  It didn’t quite work that way, though, as the Taiwanese, most having spent their entire life under the specter of potential assault from the mainland, reacted with fortitude. Every male of age on the island had served his required time in the military and was then placed in the reserves for the rest of his life. They kept their weapons at home and when the sirens had gone off indicating the beginning of the conflict, they kissed their families good-bye, directed them toward their shelters, and went to their local call-up center. The men reported to their induction centers and the women and children to bomb shelters, all donning their gas masks and protective suits. As the Chinese fleet appeared offshore, the beach defenses were manned and ready.

  One of those who waited for the invaders on the beaches was General Chang Tek-Chong. The general had planned and prepared for years for this awful possibility but he had never envisioned the current scenario in his darkest nightmares. Even though there was no formal treaty with the United States, it had been tacitly assumed that an aggressive move by the mainland would be countered by American forces. But there were no American forces in the western Pacific except for those stationed in South Korea. Taiwan was on its own.

  The general was typical of many of those who were defending the island in that he was actually part of an army that traced its roots to the invading KMT army, which now faced another invading force from the mainland. Tek-Chong’s father, Tan, had been illegitimate, the result of a liaison between a Japanese police officer and a Taiwanese woman. Despite this poor beginning Tan had become a police officer, then a lawyer. When the KMT invaded, he’d been arrested and tried for treason. He’d been tortured, then dragged through the city streets.

  When a soldier ordered him to kneel, Tan had refused and met his execution standing, with a smile on his face.

  Tek-Chong kept a black-and-white photograph taken by a KMT officer of his father’s execution in his wallet. It showed him the moment before death, the muzzle of a pistol pressed against his right temple. The fortitude and proud stance of his father was something that Tek-Chong had always tried to emulate. Like that earlier conflict, the only difference between the two sides fighting now was an ideological decision made before the lifetimes of almost all those who died. It was a difference being exploited by Artad to expand his new empire.

  Chunchon, South Korea

  Camp Page was less than ten minutes’ flight time from the DMZ. The camp consisted of a long runway and a cluster of hangars and barracks surrounded by a cinder-block wall topped by barbed wire. Parked along the runway were two American army units. One was an attack helicopter battalion
of Cobras. The other was a lift company of Blackhawks. The mission for the Blackhawks was highly classified. They were the transportation for the tactical nuclear warheads the United States kept in South Korea. The warheads were housed eighteen minutes’ flying time away in an underground bunker that was the most secure place in South Korea. They included nuclear warheads for the eight-inch howitzer battalion of the Second Infantry Division, along with nuclear mines that would be emplaced in already prepared positions along major axes of advance.

  With the heightened tensions in the area, the entire unit was kept on a three- minute alert, pilots and crew chiefs living in the hangars, next to their aircraft. When the Klaxon indicating a scramble sounded, it was almost a relief for the men and women who dashed to their helicopters and started the engines. One by one, the Blackhawks rolled out of the hangars and lined up on the airstrip until all eighteen were in line. Then, on the order of their commander, they all lifted into the air and turned to the southeast toward the bunker. As the choppers cleared the edge of the compound a flurry of SAM-7 antiaircraft missiles sliced into the air, striking home. All eighteen helicopters were destroyed in less than ten seconds.

  The North Korean commandos who had crossed the border the previous night and crept down to their hide positions outside the airfield were hunted down and killed by the South Korean forces, but they had accomplished their mission. The tactical nuclear warheads remained secure inside the bunkers as North Korean and Chinese forces crossed into the DMZ.

  Easter Island

  Kelly Reynolds felt like a shadow trying to hide in the dark. While there was a good chance she wouldn’t be seen she also could do little other than observe.

  She had no sense of her withered body, just a core of self, that existed next to and mostly in, the guardian computer. She had been watching the data flow for a long time, and she was getting better at discerning the component parts. It was as if she were standing next to a hundred-lane-wide superhighway with thousands of cars shooting by at very fast speeds. After a while, she was, in essence, able to start noting the colors and makes of various cars. There was much happening and she caught glimpses of a number of plans.

  She knew of the nanovirus at Pearl Harbor and the failure to find the remainder of the American fleet. If she’d been able to control her body she would have smiled as she sensed Aspasia’s Shadow’s anger over the failure to complete the coup de grace of the American military in the Pacific. But she could also sense his overwhelming confidence that this was just a minor setback and that his ultimate victory was inevitable.

  The guardian on Mars still maintained a communications link with this guardian. She was confused by this data stream, as it appeared that Aspasia’s Shadow was in essence ignoring the few surviving Airlia at the Cydonia Base on Mars despite a series of entreaties from them.

  The Alien Fleet approached Pearl Harbor with more submarines being built in the hold of the Jahre Viking. Aspasia’s Shadow was issuing new orders, directing the fleet to adjust course and search for the surviving American ships and convert them.

  Guides around the planet were attempting to rally people to Aspasia’s Shadow’s cause and subvert their own governments. Tapping into satellite communications and then into the Internet, the guardian, as directed by Aspasia’s Shadow, was issuing orders to those Guides, directing them to cause as much dissension as possible to keep the world from forming a united front and to spread propaganda regarding Artad.

  The infected people on the surface of the island went about the tasks designated to them by the guardian.

  The nanotechs widened the tunnel to the thermal power source underneath the island.

  All were part of the information and communication flow. Kelly could also see the truncated avenues of communication that she knew had been to other guardians around the planet. And the major break, the line that had once been connected with the Master Guardian but had been severed so long ago. She also “saw” that the guardian was opening up its end of that communications link, as if preparing for the other end to open also.

  And in the midst of all this she saw it. The name Johnny Simmons. Like a flashing light.

  She homed in on the thin data flow with his name. It was piggybacked on a GPS signal to the Alien Fleet. Unnoticeable, unless someone was looking for that specific name. There was no reason for the guardian to notice, nor Aspasia’s Shadow, but for Kelly it was a bright shining light.

  She accessed the data stream.

  Turcotte wanted more information. About Excalibur. The Master Guardian. The request was like a jolt of energy as it gave her a purpose. She came farther out of the shadows into the guardian’s data field to search for the information.

  The Colonel James N. Rowe Special Operations Training Facility, North Carolina

  The Special Operations Training Facility was located forty miles west of Fort Bragg and had been established during World War II as a training base for the Eleventh Airborne Division. A couple of decades later it served as the place where Colonel Bull Simon trained the Son Tay Raiders in preparation for their mission into North Vietnam. Years after that, Charlie Beckwith had utilized the area to prepare his Delta Force commandos for their ill-fated mission into Iran. It was now home to the field division of the Special Forces Qualification course as well as constantly being utilized by Delta Force, the Air Forces Special Operations Wing, and CIA covert forces as a training area.

  In the nineties the fixed training site had been named the Colonel Rowe Training Facility, after a Special Forces officer who had escaped imprisonment in North Vietnam and was later assassinated in the Philippines. At the present moment, given the heightened state of alert for the US military, the Rowe Facility was empty, the instructors and students shipped out to the Special Forces Groups to get them up to strength. Next to the camp, there was a full-sized airstrip.

  Thus, when Quinn brought the bouncer to a hover outside a large, rusting hangar, there was no one there to see. Turcotte exited, slid open the large doors, the rusted metal squealing in protest. Quinn flew the bouncer inside and landed it. They all exited and looked at Turcotte, waiting for the next step.

  Turcotte checked his watch, then nodded to himself as he heard the whop of helicopter blades approaching. He went out of the hangar onto the runway and looked to the east, in the direction of Fort Bragg. A Blackhawk helicopter painted flat black came in low over the trees, circled about, and landed forty feet away. The side door slid back and a quartet of heavily armed men in unmarked fatigues exited. While two took the flanks, two others ran up to Turcotte.

  He held his hands up, empty palms forward. One of them started to pat Turcotte down, but a fifth man who had just gotten off the helicopter called out: “That’s all right. Secure the perimeter.”

  Turcotte snapped a salute even though the fifth man wore no insignia. “Colonel.”

  The man returned the salute. “Major.”

  Turcotte turned to his fellow refugees from Area 51. “This is Colonel Mickell. Delta Force commander.”

  Yakov nodded, remembering the assistance Mickell had given them during the mission taking down Devil’s Island. Turcotte quickly introduced the others, then they moved inside the hangar.

  “What do you need from me, Mike?” Mickell asked. “First, no word of our existence.”

  Mickell nodded. “That’s a given.”

  “Second, local security. We can trust no one.”

  “I’ll leave the four I brought with me and send you a dozen more for outer perimeter. All men I trust.”

  “Third,” Turcotte said, “we need one of your mobile command posts.” He knew that Delta had perfected a two-van setup that was mobile and could link into the secure military communications system anywhere in the world. It wouldn’t be as good as Area 51, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances. “We’re stretched pretty thin,” Mickell said. “There’s a lot of stuff going on around the world. Communication has been lost with Hawaii. North Korea has invaded the South with
Chinese support. Taiwan and the mainland are going at it. The Middle East is going nuts, especially with Saddam dead.”

  “Do you have a mobile command post available?” Turcotte pressed.

  “Why don’t you clue me in?” Mickell asked in turn.

  Turcotte figured that was a fair enough request given that the colonel was putting his military career, and most likely his life, on the line. “We think we have a way of stopping Aspasia’s Shadow.” He quickly briefed Mickell on the Master Guardian he suspected was hidden inside a mothership on Ararat and Excalibur being on Everest.

  “All right,” Mickell agreed, when Turcotte was done. “I’ll have a command post out here as quickly as I can.”

  Turcotte walked out of the hangar and stood on the runway. He’d trained here at Camp Rowe many times in his army career, often preparing for real-world missions overseas. A slight breeze blew over the pitted concrete, making him shiver. He had a feeling this next mission was going to be harder than any he had ever been on before.

  He pulled the collar of his battle dress uniform tighter around his neck.

  CHAPTER 11: THE PRESENT

  Gulf of Mexico

  “When you partook of the Grail,” Dr. Garlin asked, “did anything else happen?” “The minute I put my hand in,” Duncan said, “it took over my body.”

  “What about before?”

  “‘Before’?”

  “You were in the Hall of Records,” Garlin said. “The Ark was there. You were wearing the robes and crown of a priest. The only things you didn’t have were the stones. Did anything happen before Aspasia’s Shadow gave you the one stone?” Duncan frowned. “There was a connection on the top of the Ark. Leads. That went to the crown I was wearing.”

  “And you made the connection?” “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I saw something when I was connected to the Ark,” she said. “Something strange.”

  Garlin leaned forward slightly. “And that was?”