Mualama spoke up. “Excalibur was put on Everest by a rogue group of Watchers under the command of Myrrdin — Merlin. It is doubtful that Nabinger would have picked the coordinates up from High Rune markings.”
“How do you know that?” Turcotte asked.
Mualama held up Burton’s missing manuscript. “It’s in here.”
“Nice to let us know that now,” Turcotte said.
“I translated the manuscript in the order you wanted me to,” Mualama said. “Remember? Information on the Grail and the Mission was the priority.”
Turcotte didn’t buy that explanation. They’d been totally dependent on Mualama to translate Burton’s text, written in ancient Akkadian. His information about the location of the Mission’s base under Mount Sinai had been accurate but Turcotte had to wonder if there was anything else the archaeologist was holding back. In fact, they had to trust that Mualama had brought forth the entire manuscript, given that the African had traveled all over the world tracking it down.
“What does Burton say about Excalibur?” Turcotte asked.
“According to what Burton learned at Avalon,” Mualama said, “Merlin came there after Arthur died and took Excalibur from the Watcher of Avalon, Brynn. The Watchers didn’t know where he took it, but in the course of tracking down the scepter for the Hall of Records, Burton came across stories about a special sword and indications it had been taken by Merlin toward southern Asia — beyond the edge of the known world at that time.
“When Burton was stationed in India, he was part of a group that mapped the northern districts, in the foothills of the Himalayas. As was his wont, he disguised himself and went among the locals, listening to their legends and stories. And he heard tales that a magical sword had been brought from the West many years ago by a sorcerer and taken high into the mountains, to the roof of the world.”
“That doesn’t give me an exact location,” Turcotte noted. “Everest is a big mountain.”
“The entire point of putting it up there was that no one could get to it,” Mualama said. “Or get up there, recover the sword, and make it down alive.” “People have climbed Everest,” Turcotte noted.
“Only in the past fifty years,” Mualama said. “And from what Burton wrote about what he heard, it’s not on the very top, but close to it, on a portion of the mountain that is very difficult to get to. In a place where climbers heading for the top wouldn’t go.”
Something didn’t sit right with Turcotte about all of this. “If Burton knew where it was hidden, what about Artad? And Aspasia’s Shadow? Do they know?” Mualama shrugged. “I would imagine so. After all Kelly Reynolds got the information out of the Easter Island guardian, right? Aspasia’s Shadow certainly has access to the same resource.”
“Why hasn’t anyone recovered it, then?” Turcotte asked. “It would have broken the truce,” Mualama said.
Turcotte shook his head. “Hell, both sides have broken the truce numerous times over the years.”
“I don’t know,” Mualama said, shrugging.
“Perhaps”—Yakov drew the word out—“activating the Master Guardian would have had much the same effect as activating the interstellar drive of the mothership. Perhaps it would draw in this enemy of the Airlia — the Swarm?”
“How do you know that?” Turcotte asked. That was the thing that had started all this, when Majestic had planned on test-flying the mothership and Turcotte had stopped them at the last minute.
“I don’t know it,” Yakov said. “But while both sides broke the truce, neither side attempted to fly a mothership until recently and that seems more an automated response by Majestic’s guardian than a plan. Perhaps there are aspects of the truce both sides tried to respect.”
“Too much conjecture,” Turcotte muttered. “And remember, Excalibur was used during Arthur and Merlin’s time. I don’t like the idea of wandering around on Everest looking for a sword that could be hidden anywhere. Hopefully we’ll get another message from Kelly with the exact location.”
“Ah—” Colonel Mickell held up a hand. Turcotte paused. “Yes, sir?”
“Mike, you have any idea what it’s like to be on Everest?” “It’s a mountain,” Turcotte said, looking down at his boots.
“No,” Mickell shook his head. “It’s the mountain. Two of my men were on an expedition there last year. They didn’t make it to the top. And they were the best climbers we have. You can’t just go up there,” Mickell added. “You have to acclimatize over a long period of time or you will die.”
“I don’t have time to acclimatize,” Turcotte said. “I’ll be on the bouncer. It won’t take but a couple of minutes.”
“Mike.” Mickell said the one word like a slap in the face.
Turcotte’s eyes couldn’t meet the colonel’s. Finally, he nodded. “I know, sir. Nothing ever goes as planned, but I don’t see what I can do other than just go.” “You can be prepared for the worst,” Mickell said. “We did some research after our men came back. We don’t expect to have to operate on Everest but we do have to plan that we might have to conduct a short-notice operation at extreme high altitude someday. That’s the major reason we sent our two men up there.”
“And?” Turcotte was anxious to be going. He could hear an aircraft landing on the runway and from the sound of the propellers, he knew it was a C-130—Yakov’s ride to Turkey.
Mickell glanced at his watch. “As soon as I heard where you were going I alerted my people. A chopper should be here any minute with our high-altitude packet and one of my men who was part of the expedition.
“The problem is oxygen, Mike. The minute you get above twenty-five thousand feet you’re in the death zone. Your body starts dying. You only have about one-third the oxygen you’re used to at sea level.”
“People have climbed it without oxygen, though,” Turcotte noted.
“Yeah,” Mickell allowed. “Sixty. And an equal number who tried it without have died. Like those odds?”
“I assume your man will have oxygen for me to use,” Turcotte said.
“Even among those who use oxygen one-sixth die. And all of them take weeks to months to acclimatize at high altitude before making a summit attempt.”
“So you’ve got oxygen in this packet, right, sir?” Turcotte repeated.
“Mike, it isn’t just lack of oxygen that’s a danger. There’s pulmonary edema, cerebral edema, hypothermia—”
“Sir—” Turcotte looked his superior officer in the eyes. “I’ve got to go. Whatever you’ve got in this packet beyond the oxygen that can help—”
Mickell suddenly seemed to notice all the others gathered around. “Mike. We never really planned on doing this. Unless—”
Turcotte nodded and completed the statement. “Unless there was absolutely no other option.”
“Right.”
“So what do you have besides oxygen?” Turcotte asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Blood packing. Drugs. Experimental stuff that has never been used.” “OK.”
Mickell didn’t argue, accepting Turcotte’s decision. “The man I’m sending with you not only made the climb, but he’s also a medic. He can prep you on the way there.” “All right.” Turcotte looked around. “Anyone have anything else before we split up?”
Ouinn spoke up. “I’ll continue to go through the archive information you got from Moscow and I’ll reread what has been translated of Burton’s diary.” “Whatever you get, forward to Yakov and me,” Turcotte said.
“Yes, sir.”
A Delta Force soldier popped his head in the hangar. “Anyone want a ride to Turkey?”
“I’ll walk you out to the plane,” Turcotte said to Yakov. He turned to Mualama as the two headed out. “Make sure all the gear is loaded on the bouncer.”
A specially modified C-130 transport aircraft was fifty meters away as they exited the hangar, engines running, back ramp down. Turcotte stopped just short of the ramp. Twenty Delta Force commandos were already inside, geared up a
nd ready to go. Turcotte didn’t envy them the long flight to Turkey. Colonel Mickell’s staff had already coordinated inflight refueling for the trip.
“Good luck.” Turcotte shook Yakov’s hand. “You also,” Yakov said.
“I’ll meet you in Turkey,” Turcotte said as he stepped back from the ramp.
“I will see you there.” Yakov stood in the shadows as the ramp slowly rose and the top came down from above. Turcotte walked away from the plane as the prop blast washed over him. The smell of burning fuel was one he always associated with C-130s and parachuting. He waited as the plane accelerated down the runway and rose into the air, banking toward the east. It was quickly out of sight, hidden by the pine trees surrounding the airfield.
* * *
Turcotte paused as a Blackhawk helicopter swooped in. The side door opened and several Delta operatives got off carrying gear toward the hangar. Mualama directed them toward the bouncer.
Colonel Mickell waited for him with a tall soldier with graying hair. “Mike, this is Jim Morris.”
The medic had a large plastic case in each hand, so Turcotte just nodded. “I got your blood types from the colonel. We should be good to go.”
Turcotte had always trusted Special Forces medics. They were highly trained and often, on missions to developing nations, worked as doctors, dentists, and surgeons. “You ready to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
Turcotte turned to Mualama. “You ready?” The African nodded.
“Let’s do it, then.”
CHAPTER 12: THE PRESENT
Taiwan
As the first wave of mainland forces headed toward shore in their landing craft, Tek-Chong waited in his command post bunker eight hundred meters inland. He saw the golden dragon flying to the north about four miles up the beach, but like his comrades did not know what to make of it.
The Taiwanese forces put aside their shock and opened fire as soon as the mainland craft were in range, only to receive their second, and much more devastating, shock as their projectiles hit a shield wall projected by Chi Yu that covered the Chinese forces. Their bullets were stopped and shells exploded harmlessly. The weapon superiority that Taiwanese commanders had counted on to counter the numerical edge of the mainland forces was lost. The first wave hit the beaches, the ramps dropped, and thousands of men stormed ashore under the protection of the shield wall.
Despite the fact that he could see that the artillery wasn’t penetrating the invisible shield in front of the landing forces, Tek-Chong ordered his forces to keep firing. He watched as rounds smacked harmlessly into the same shield and thousands of mainland troops poured ashore untouched, establishing a beachhead. Not certain what to expect, Tek-Chong held his post. He could see the mainland forces digging in, setting up their artillery, deploying armor, all with impunity. The most difficult and dangerous part of an invasion was being accomplished without a loss.
Reluctantly Tek-Chong ordered his forces to cease firing in order to save ammunition. He kicked the concrete wall of his bunker as he watched the mainland forces deploy.
His frustration was gone in an instant, though, when the mainland artillery suddenly opened fire. Tek-Chong screamed into his radio for his forces to fire back as the shells impacted among his forces. He realized the shield was down, but for how long?
The mainland troops fired ten volleys while his artillery managed to respond with three before the mainland ceased fire. His forces’ next volley impacted on the shield and he called a halt. The pattern repeated five minutes later and Tek-Chong realized that his forces were on the losing end of this battle of attrition as long as the mainland forces knew when the shield would be active or inactive.
Tek-Chong reluctantly issued the order for his forces to pull back.
South Korea
Nearly 1 percent of land in the Korean peninsula had been completely untouched by the intrusion of man for almost fifty years. While environmentalists in other countries would be thrilled, this was not the result of an ecological decision, but rather one of war. When the cease-fire was signed in 1953, the front line between the United Nations and Chinese troops zigged and zagged across the peninsula. Under the terms, both sides simply pulled back two kilometers, leaving a four-kilometer gap between the forces, which stretched from the Sea of Japan to the Yellow Sea.
Inside this no-man’s-land rested discarded weapons, skeletons, and minefields — and a pure ecology untouched by humans. On the south side, about five hundred meters back from the DMZ, was a barbed-wire fence, mostly electrified with a ten-meter cleared area on either side. Patrols moved along the southern side of the fence continuously, checking the plowed earth for footprints. Overlooking the fence were observation posts manned by squads of soldiers.
With fifty years to plan, the North Korean assault into the DMZ was perfectly coordinated. And just as perfectly, the Americans and South Koreans began their defense. Within sixty seconds the perfect plans of both sides dissolved into the confusion and terror of all-out war.
Behind a large hill on the North Korean side of the border, out of direct line of sight from the south, was a large warehouse that appeared to be part of a motor pool complex. Crammed inside were two thousand soldiers comprising an infantry regiment of crack North Korean commandos under the command of Colonel Lin.
In the center of the large space that encompassed the interior of the building, was a sixty-foot-wide door, angled at forty-five degrees. Checking his watch, Lin held his wrist in front of his face as the second hand slowly made its circuit around. When it reached twelve, he chopped downward with his other hand, giving the signal to the engineers. The door slowly rumbled open, revealing a mine shaft that angled down into the ground toward the south, dimly lit by a row of naked lightbulbs strung along the roof. A platoon of engineers quickly ran into the tunnel, which was wide enough for ten men to enter abreast. Lin followed, his regiment behind him, tightly packed together.
The men were hungry, Lin knew. Literally. North Korea had slowly been starving as a nation for over a decade.
Famine was a vulture on everyone’s shoulders. The army got food first, but that brought little solace to men who knew their families at home were worse off. Tens of thousands had died in the past several years.
Lin skidded to a halt as the engineers paused in front of him. He put his arms out wide and the thousands behind him also halted. He could feel his men, almost like a single living thing, a snake, slithering through the ground to attack their enemy to the south.
They moved for almost thirty minutes, moving farther and farther to the south. The chief engineer put his hand on a plunger set in the center of the tunnel. Wires led from it ahead. Lin knew they had passed under the DMZ between North Korea and South Korea and were across the border.
The charges had been in place for twenty years, ever since this particular tunnel had been dug. Every six months volunteers had sneaked into the tunnel and checked them.
The earth shuddered. Lin blinked as a cloud of dirt and dust came billowing down the tunnel toward him. He closed his eyes, feeling his skin covered, blanketed by the debris, a wind rushing down the tunnel. Then all was still.
Lin opened his eyes. There was daylight ahead. The way was open. Lin began moving forward even as the engineers set up ladders to help in the ascent. He felt that if he didn’t move, the men behind would trample him, pound him into the dirt, in their desire to go up.
Lin paused for just the slightest of moments as he reached the ladder. Were they so desirous to attack or to join with their brethren in the south?
Turkey
Five miles. The road was rising up, the land swelling toward Ararat. Two vehicles had already broken down and been left on the side of the road. General Kashir had his map out and was scanning the terrain ahead, searching for the best route toward the Ahora Gorge. It was on the northeast side of the mountain, so he directed his lead vehicle to leave the road and angle to the right.
The first indication of the incoming Turkish jets
was when their ordnance obliterated the front third of Kashir’s column. The blast wave from the bombs blew over Kashir like a warm wind. He craned his neck but the planes were already miles away, making a long turn to come back for another run. Glancing forward, he saw the smoking ruins of the front vehicles.
“Disperse and make for the rally point,” he ordered.
The Iranian vehicles spread out and raced toward the mountain as the Turkish jets unloaded the rest of their bombs. Half of the tanks and APCs were destroyed, but the rest continued on course, heading up the slope of the mountain.
In Air
“We’ve received a message from Kelly.” Quinn’s voice sounded tinny and distant in the headphones, the result of being scrambled by the Delta equipment and descrambled by the receiver set next to Turcotte.
Turcotte glanced over his shoulder. Mualama was seated with his back against one of the plastic cases, his eyes closed, apparently resting. Morris had another case open and was going through the gear inside. Turcotte was seated in the depression in the center of the bouncer, his hands on the control. They had just crossed the East Coast of the United States and were headed east at over three thousand miles an hour across the Atlantic.
“And?” Turcotte asked.
“We’ve got a grid for Excalibur. I’m sending it hard copy via onetime pad.” Turcotte nodded slightly as the machine scrolled out a piece of paper. “So if we have it, Aspasia’s Shadow has it.”
“A good assumption,” Quinn said. “Anything else in the message?”
“Just the coordinates and one word.” Turcotte waited.
“Beware.”
CHAPTER 13: THE PRESENT
South Korea
The capital of South Korea, Seoul, has the disadvantage of being a relatively short distance from the demilitarized zone. As North Korean and Chinese forces poured over and under the border, General Carmody and the South Korean president had to make some quick recalculations based on the dual facts that they had neither tactical nuclear weapons nor American naval and air support from the fleet as expected.
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