The Rock

by Robert Doherty

  "Yes, sir."

  Lamb clambered back into the basket and gave the signal for Tomkins to start the motor. As he rode to the surface he considered what he was to tell the President. Things had changed and Lamb knew he had to do a quick reevaluation of the whole situation.

  By the time he got to his office and raised the President on the radio, Lamb had made his decision.

  "What is it, Steve? My secretary said this was priority one." The President looked haggard and worn.

  "The marines came back through, sir."

  "You pull me out of a cabinet meeting to tell me that? What-"

  "Excuse me, sir, but there's more." As succinctly as possible Lamb outlined what they had gleaned from the imagery at Tunguska and the message that Hawkins had sent with the team.

  "What does it all mean?" the President asked when he was done.

  "I think that whatever came out of the Tunguska Wall had Hawkins in it, sir. I think that Hawkins is on the trail of the last bomb."

  "But you said that Hawkins told the marines one of the Russians was with him. This Colonel Tuskin."

  "Yes, sir." Lamb looked at the computer printout his intelligence analyst had just slid across his desk. "Tuskin is a Spetsnatz officer. One of their best. I think he may well be with Hawkins."

  "Then it is a Russian setup," the President said, confusion plain on his face.

  "No, sir, I don't believe so. I don't think the Russians would have shot at whatever it is that came through their Wall just ten minutes ago if they were behind this and knew what was going on. And why would they have isolated the marines and then sent them back? I think they're as confused as we are, if not more. As a matter of fact, sir, I think they are confused enough to launch an assault-or at least a reconnaissance in force-on our position here. I believe the Russians think we're behind everything that's happening."

  The President stared at the camera for a long time, his face tired, the eyes the only sign of life. Finally he sighed. "All right. So you're saying they're going to up the stakes because they think we're screwing with them?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And what should I do?"

  Lamb paused and rubbed the indentation on his cheek, then spoke. "Call Pamarov, sir. Offer to let them send inspectors here to look at the Rock and the chamber inside. Tell him everything we know."

  The President blinked. "That's quite a change, Steve. A couple of hours ago you were sure that the Russians were behind this. I can see where you've uncovered new information leading you to change that position, but let me ask you one thing. What if the Russians are behind this?"

  "I've thought hard about this, sir. If they are, I don't think we have anything to lose by opening up to them. If they're behind it they know everything that's happened and is happening. But if they're not-and I think the evidence strongly points that way-then we lose a lot by not going to them and laying our cards on the table. My intelligence indicates they're getting ready to launch a Spetsnatz mission off their carrier task force. We can handle it and stop it, but it'll be bloody as hell. And who knows what that will escalate into? The Australians certainly won't be happy. They may even insist we shut down here."

  "What about the Orion team that was at Tunguska?" the President asked. "You admit it, sir. I think that will really make Pamarov believe you." Lamb leaned forward, sweat pouring off his forehead. He threw aside the cloak of formality and addressed his old friend. "Hell, Pete, they already know those guys were ours. They just can't prove it. And we know some things about them, too, that we've never gone public with. You've seen Volkers's printouts. This world's getting ready to go down the tubes. This may be a last chance to do something right for once."

  The President rested his eyes on Lamb for a long time as he slumped back in his chair, deep in thought. Then slowly he straightened and Lamb saw a look come into his friend's eyes that he hadn't seen in a long time. "All right, Steve. You're right. We've got nothing to lose. And maybe we can do something right for once. I'll call Pamarov. You be prepared there to talk to whoever's in charge of their fleet and arrange for an inspection team."

  The screen went dead and Lamb sat back in his chair, his stomach churning. He wasn't sure if he'd just damned his country or saved it or if anything he did mattered.

  THE COMPLEX

  The Other Side

  Fran, Debra, and Pencak wandered along the corridor, poking their heads in as the doors swished open, revealing the rooms beyond. Most contained machinery, on a smaller scale than that above, the purpose of which was unknown-although a few reminded Fran of repair facilities, perhaps for the skimmers. Some rooms were totally empty; others contained rows of waist-high platforms that might have been beds. One appeared to be a dining area.

  The total absence of any life was very disturbing. The entire facility appeared to have been built with the idea of supporting a large number of personnel-personnel that from the artifacts they could see, were approximately human sized-yet they met nothing and no one.

  Pencak stepped up to another door and it slid open. She looked inside and then back over her shoulder, her one eye gleaming. "This looks interesting."

  Fran peered in. It was a large room, the true extent of which she could not see, due to dividers coming up from the floor. Directly in front of them was a bank of what appeared to be computer terminals with benches in front. Levy pushed past and ran up to one of the machines and sat down before it.

  "Do you think it works?" Fran asked as she walked up.

  The screen was totally gray and it was hard to tell if the computer was on or off. There was no keyboard, simply ten holes about an inch in diameter, evenly spaced, directly below the screen-a smaller version of the wrist holes in the Speaker's room.

  Levy simply sat and stared, not replying. Fran looked about. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at a corridor off to the left where a red light glowed.

  Pencak shrugged. "I don't know."

  As Fran moved toward the light, Levy extended both hands and slipped her fingers into the slots. The screen cleared of gray and symbols appeared. Levy's normally expressionless face softened as a large smile crossed it and her pupils narrowed into tiny balls intent upon the small screen.

  Fran stepped into the corridor and paused for a second, letting her eyes adjust to the red light. She moved down and the light coming out of recesses in the ceiling started shifting in the color spectrum, going from red to blue. The farther she went, the lighter it grew until suddenly she realized she was bathed in light just as she would have been on a bright summer day back on Earth. The corridor turned right and she went around the comer. A glass-enclosed hexagonal platform stood there, the door wide open.

  Fran started as a hand dropped heavily on her shoulder. She swung her head around and saw Pencak looking at her.

  "What do you think that is?" Fran asked.

  "Let's see," Pencak replied. She led the way over and stepped in the door. A small control console was in one comer. There were three buttons: one with an arrow pointing up, one down, and one with a horizontal line on it. Pencak and Fran looked up. Through the glass ceiling they could see a red-lit tunnel beckoning straight up.

  Pencak hovered her good hand over the button with the up arrow. "Shall we?"

  "Do you think we should?" Fran asked.

  "We'll never know unless we try." Pencak pressed down on the button and the elevator smoothly lifted and accelerated. Fran's knees briefly buckled, then the speed settled out. Red panels flashed by, marking stops, but Pencak kept her hand pressed on the up button.

  After thirty seconds the elevator gradually began to slow. The red panels flashed by more slowly, then suddenly the machine halted. On the outside of the glass there was now slate-gray metal on all sides, including the top.

  "What do you think?" Fran asked Pencak.

  The old woman was standing stock-still, peering ahead as if she could see through the metal. Her hand lifted off the up button and touched the horizontal one. With a hiss of hydraulics, the roo
f flipped over, revealing a dark and sullen gray sky above with several odd-looking streaks of dull red in it.

  The metal panels on the side began unfolding with heavy thuds, indicating their protective thickness. As the world around began to appear, Fran gasped and staggered back, holding on to the console for support. She turned to Pencak, speechless.

  The older woman's face crinkled in a weary smile. "Amazing, isn't it?"

  Fran looked back out, her gaze riveted on the object blocking out the entire horizon to the one side. "You knew?"

  Pencak's voice was barely audible. "I knew. And it was time for you to know."

  Fran looked up at the scarred and shattered object that faced her. It had been battered and smashed by some powerful force, but it still maintained enough of the original form to leave no doubt in her mind that she was staring at Ayers Rock-or what remained of it.

  Hundreds of feet below, Debra Levy sat staring at the computer screen, tears pouring unnoticed down her face. "No," she murmured to herself. "No, it can't be." She pulled her fingers out of the holes and pressed them to the side of her head as uncontrollable sobs racked her body.

  THE SOURCE

  Proletesk, Ukraine

  23 DECEMBER 1995, 1100 LOCAL

  23 DECEMBER 1995, 0800 ZULU

  Hawkins looked through his binoculars at the small dacha one last time and then handed them to Tuskin. "You know this place?"

  Tuskin spit into the snow. His coverall was now white, speckled with green dots and stripes, matching perfectly with the snow and low-lying pine trees. "Yes. I know it. It is one of many places the SVR-you knew them as the KGB, but now they have a new name-takes those who will never be seen again. The guards live in comfort, the prisoners in pain. The contrast is deliberate-calculated to help in the process of breaking the prisoner. They have had many years to perfect their techniques. Too many."

  "What about security?" Hawkins asked.

  Tuskin gave a smile that chilled. "Who would dare attack? You would be crazy to attack the SVR."

  Hawkins stood. "Well, that I am."

  Tuskin stood and slapped him on the back. "We should never have been enemies."

  Hawkins pointed at the dacha. "How do you want to take it down?"

  "The general will be in the cellar. The guards are probably drunk. The SVR are all scum who live off of others' misery." He looked at Hawkins, as if trying to gauge his reaction. "We kill all and take the general out. How does that sound for a plan, my friend?"

  Hawkins hefted the plasma projector. "Sounds good to me. Let's do it."

  They moved through the woods, down the slope to the small house perched on the edge of the ice-covered lake. They'd landed in the skimmer over two hours earlier on the other side of the large ridge they were now descending. As soon as they'd stepped out of the door, it had immediately sealed itself back up, but Hawkins had no doubt that it would open again when they came back.

  The ride from Tunguska had been wild. It had reminded Hawkins of nap-of-the-earth (NOE) flying in a helicopter with an expert and somewhat crazy pilot at the controls. Right after they'd punched through the Wall, the autopilot had kicked in, taking them from Tunguska to the location Hawkins had indicated on the video screen. They'd skimmed along, the bottom of the craft barely inches above the trees, always staying in the lowest ground available. Their speed had been incredible for that low an altitude-Hawkins estimated they'd flown at almost five hundred miles an hour.

  Hawkins shifted his focus to the present as he reached the edge of the wood line surrounding the house. There were forty feet of open space. Two black sedans with chains on the tires sat in front. There was no sign of a guard on the outside. His heart was pounding in his ears, his senses reaching out and picking up things that would have normally escaped unnoticed. Time was slowing as he slid into combat readiness. Tuskin pointed and twitched his head-gestures most would have not understood. Hawkins felt an affinity for his blood brother in killing. He understood perfectly. He moved across the open snow in smooth steps, his entire body tuned in to the building ahead, awaiting any reaction.

  Tuskin moved in his peripheral vision, heading toward the back of the building. Hawkins reached the side of the dacha and took a quick glance around the corner. A porch stretched ahead, leading to the front door in the center. He looked over his shoulder and Tuskin's eyes were on him, waiting. Hawkins nodded and moved around the corner, stooping low so he wouldn't be seen through the first window he passed. As he straightened, the front door opened and a man stepped out, still speaking in Russian over his shoulder.

  The plasma projector seared the man in half, and in less than half a second Hawkins was in the doorway, spraying down the room. Men died even before their conscious minds understood what was happening. Hawkins let up on the trigger only when the far wall blew apart from the ray. A stairwell beckoned to his right. The golden ray of another projector sliced across his left front, catching two SVR men coming out of the other room on the main floor. Tuskin stepped into the room, his eyes taking in the smoldering remains of the bodies.

  Together the two hit the stairs going down. A voice-disturbed by the strange sound of the wall getting blown out-called out in Russian, asking Ivan what was happening. A sustained burst blew in the heavy steel door at the bottom of the stairs and Hawkins stepped inside. The torturer was so surprised, his first round was wide, splashing against the concrete above Hawkins's head. There was no second shot as Hawkins obliterated the man. He lowered the muzzle of the projector and looked at the only man left alive in the building.

  The general was naked and tied to a wooden X bolted to the wall. The car battery and alligator clamps laid out on a cart were enough to indicate the crude methods the SVR had been using to dredge information. The general's eyes widened as Tuskin walked into the room.

  "Pyotr! You have come to help me!"

  Tuskin didn't say a word as they cut the general free and dragged him up the stairs and through the carnage they'd caused, pausing only to grab an overcoat for the man to wear. The older man collapsed as they left the building, and Tuskin threw him over his shoulder. They made it to the skimmer in five minutes and the door slid down to admit them.

  Tuskin unceremoniously threw the general down onto the metal floor. As the old man gasped for breath, Tuskin knelt over him, his words a low hiss of Russian. "Who did you sell the bombs to?"

  The general looked up and smiled painfully. "Ah, Pyotr. They have asked that for a week. You did not have to kill all those guards to play this game. I will never speak. Who put you up to this? Kolgorov? Roskin? What do they care?"

  Tuskin pulled his knife out. "No game, Comrade General. I am not with anyone. I am for me. Who did you sell the bombs to?"

  The general shook his head. "I fought in the Great War. I served for forty-eight years after. And what did I get? Nothing. So I made my own way as the rest of the country did. Isn't that what capitalism is supposed to be? Looking out for yourself? That I failed and was caught is my mistake. I will die with that."

  Tuskin put the knife against the general's throat. "Who did you sell the bombs to?"

  The general didn't flinch. "The SVR did all they could for a week. You can't do more. I am a dead man."

  "Not yet," Tuskin muttered as he slid the knife down the man's body and pressed it in. "You don't know what pain is yet. The SVR were amateurs. I am not."

  Hawkins stared unemotionally as the screams echoed against the metal skin of the skimmer. Tuskin used the knife skillfully, choosing maximum pain with minimal actual physical damage. The colonel's voice was ice cold as his hands worked. "I am not SVR. I am not Spetsnatz anymore. I answer to no one. There are worse things than death, Comrade General. You will experience them all. If you tell me who, I will make it short and easy. Until you do, it will never end. We can keep you alive. The SVR really didn't care who you sold the bombs to, because they thought the buyers were out of the country and it wasn't their problem anymore. You were an embarrassment and there wasn't much they
could do about you or the bombs."

  The knife twitched and the general screamed again, curling up in the fetal position, trying to escape. "Not like the electricity, is it, Comrade General?" Tuskin asked. "You knew after the shock that your body and mind were still there. But now, now, you don't know what will be left after the blade is done, do you?"

  "Why, Pyotr?" The general sobbed. "Why are you doing this to me? The country betrayed us! You owe them nothing."

  "I owe the people something," Tuskin said.

  Hawkins grabbed his comrade's hand, preventing the fatal twist, and shook his head. "We need him," he mouthed to Tuskin.

  "The people," Tuskin repeated. "All those who have lived their lives, simply trusting that those who held the power would at the very least not destroy them." The knife moved to a less lethal position and slid in.

  The general screamed and vomited, the meager remains of his last prison meal spewing onto the floor. "Please, Pyotr! Please!"

  "Who, General? Who?" Tuskin turned to Hawkins. "Hold his head still."

  Hawkins reached down and grabbed the general's white hair, clamping his other arm around the neck, immobilizing the old man. Tuskin moved the point of the knife to just in front of the general's left eye.

  "Pyotr! You wouldn't!" The eye was mesmerized by the bloody tip, centimeters away.

  "Who? You have five seconds or I take out that eye. Then the other. I'll stop the bleeding, so you will survive. Then I will castrate you. Then your hands. And we will keep you alive. We will cauterize the amputations as we go so you don't bleed to death." Tuskin's voice was totally devoid of emotion.

  "Five. Four. Three. Who, General?" Tuskin paused for a few seconds. "Two. One." The knife darted forward, piercing the eye. It took all of Hawkins's strength to keep his grip as the body spasmed wildly from pain. Tuskin levered down on the knife and the ruined eye popped out, dangling by the occipital cord. Tuskin neatly severed the cord and the eye fell to the floor.