Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series)

by A J Marshall

  Oscar Perram swivelled in his seat and faced the large mirror. He looked up from his notes and shrugged. “The best he could do. It’s been a long time. We may be able to fill in a few more minor details given some time. Sometimes there are a few residuals – they hang over. Perhaps in a few hours,” he said.

  Rothschild’s nod was unseen by Perram. “I understand. Let’s move on, shall we?”

  Perram turned back to his colleague. “This is a big challenge for you, Ike, isn’t it?” he asked, quietly. “First they want us to retire on a pension that wouldn’t keep a racoon and then they want two for the price of one.” He smiled.

  Ike Smith raised a half-hearted grin that showed his bad teeth. He dropped his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. There was silence for at least a minute. “Here’s what I saw, Oscar,” he whispered.

  “I’m here. Go on.”

  “It’s brown . . . everywhere is brown, a rusty, reddish colour, you know, maybe more brown than red, sometimes there is a streak of . . . orange, yeah, like that.”

  “What a place, Ike.”

  “You betcha. The air is red too. Dust and bits blowing around. I think there’s a strong wind. I see the pyramid, can’t miss it, and there is one behind me too. Gee, they’re big. Can’t see the tops. It’s not clear. I’m in a kind of precinct, like a central square. It’s flat, broad.” Smith moved uneasily in the chair. The muscles in his face strained; there was a nervous tension building in his body. “It’s draining, Oscar, this one,” he croaked, “too far again, I can’t . . .”

  “Take it easy. There’s no rush, Ike. Just let the image come back to you, let it float in your mind for a while. Let it sharpen up first – like we used to do.”

  Ike Smith nodded. “I’m going to the pyramid . . . don’t know which one. I’m seeing things – tracks; there are a lot of them. Wait! I’m seeing something, yeah, I saw it. There’s something here – moving like a man. No, it’s not clear, maybe not.”

  “It’s a door, Ike. That’s what you are looking for. A way in – look for a way in!”

  “I’m seeing some steps. They go up, a long way up, towards the top. I’m going . . . Level again, no door, flat, but no door.”

  “And . . .”

  “In the stone, there, a hand, yeah, a hand . . . from a person? There is something about it – it’s got like a glow. It, like, gives off something, can’t explain . . .”

  “A way in, Ike. Please, try to focus. Can you see an entrance?”

  “Don’t need that. I’m inside – no door. Ugh! Would ya take a look at that! Amazing! Like . . . makes me think of a fores— . . . trees, so many trees, but everything is dead . . . it’s all dead, dead . . . like . . .”

  Suddenly Smith began to tremble. His whole body began to shake. Perram dropped his tablet and put his hands on Smith’s forearm and head. “Okay, Ike. It’s okay. Come back now, come back.”

  Smith’s head rolled from side to side. He reacted as if he had a heavy fever. Blood flushed his forehead and beads of moisture appeared. Perram pushed him down against the couch-like chair. “Come back to me now. Ya hear me, Ike. Come back. Three, two, one, now!”

  Ike Smith’s eyes opened instantaneously. He gasped. He clasped his hands over his face. Then his body went limp.

  “You’re okay, Ike – safe, back with me. You’re done.”

  Smith uncovered his face to see Perram glaring down at him. There was fright in his eyes. He took a deep breath, held it, and then nodded in a controlled way.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Perram asked, with a frown.

  “Inside, Oscar – there was energy, overpowering energy. It filled my senses. Left over from something, you know, unfinished, forgotten – it confused me. I was disorientated. Sorry, I lost it.”

  Perram sat down and picked up his electronic tablet. His fingers danced over the screen as he made notes. Occasionally he looked up at Smith and studied him, as if confirming his diagnosis. After a while Perram stood and put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “You’re gonna take a few days off,” he said, in a way that a doctor with a good bedside manner would. “We’ll talk about this again. Take a few minutes to lock it down, Ike, if you can. That helps with residuals – you remember that. Then go and take a shower, why don’t you. I’ll arrange something for you to eat – don’t suppose these Brits have hamburgers, do you?”

  Smith kneaded his temples for a moment, shook his head about the hamburgers, and smiled gratefully. With that, Perram left the room.

  The group of five sat around the circular table. Abbey Hennessy placed a small recording device in the centre and activated it. A tiny green light illuminated on one end. Rothschild’s natural scepticism raised his eyebrows as he looked at Abbey, who, on the other hand, appeared much more open minded; it was her research that had brought about the experiment and the funding. The American agent sat stony-faced; he was there to listen and not to talk. And all the while, Edward Blake typed copious notes into his own notepad. He seemed to be in his element.

  “Would you say it was a reliable outcome or not?” opened Rothschild, getting straight to the point.

  “Listen, sir, with all due respect,” responded Perram, a suggestion of protest lacing his tone, “Ike’s been in retirement and so have I. We’re not as sharp as we used to be – and that’s the truth of it. But I’m telling you, although we’re lacking specifics here, that’s a good effort.”

  Rothschild nodded appreciatively. “I understand. So in that case could you outline your thoughts for us, please?”

  “Yeah, sure, this is what I think. . .” Perram referred to his notes. “That object, coming towards us, it’s a long way off, right?”

  “About nine light months, I’m reliably informed,” replied Rothschild.

  Perram’s eyes widened. “That far, eh!” He shrugged and looked impressed. “Ike did well.”

  “Time is of the essence,” said Rothschild.

  “Yeah. Well, it’s not a piece of rock; it’s got form. So you can discount a small comet or a meteorite, and space debris too for that matter. Ike saw a square shape, with some kind of propulsion tube. Make of that what you will, but I think it’s a ship of some kind. Obviously, it’s not from these parts.”

  “You think from another galaxy?” asked Abbey.

  “There are plenty of stars in this one, Mam. Maybe you should cast your mind back to twenty-sixteen – consider the alien visitings. Maybe they are trying their luck again. As for the Elysium Pyramids on Mars, only once before do I recall seeing Ike so scrambled. My guess, and it’s only a guess, is that there’s a lot of residual psychic energy inside.”

  “You mean the pyramids are hollow, definitely hollow?” Edward Blake shifted excitedly in his chair.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind about that, sir. Ike saw something inside . . . trees, he said. He was going to say forest. Sounds impossible but . . .”

  “What do you mean by psychic energy?” Rothschild asked.

  “The energy of life! Or more than likely, in an environment like that, the energy that remains after life. If there was some kind of – vegetation – inside, then the energy would have been contained. A forest? Wow, it would have been brimming. It doesn’t matter, you know. Animal or plant, there’s always energy. It’s just on a different level to ours. Ike’s manipulating his own psychic energy in order to travel. He’s projecting it – it’s a gift. Control comes with technique and practise. Knowing about this energy and using it is one thing, understanding it, well, that’s something else entirely.”

  “How long would it last?” Rothschild enquired, the scepticism disappearing from his manner.

  “This type of energy, the energy of life . . . it doesn’t disappear. It can change form and move on, but it never dissipates into nothing. Think of the relativity equation – mathematics proves it: there has to be a constant. I’m telling ya. Enclosed by stone walls like that, probably hundreds of feet thick and particularly in the shape of a pyramid, I mean contain
ed by the universal denominator . . . ” Perram drew a deep breath. “It could last, well, indefinitely.”

  Rothschild raised his eyebrows for more information.

  Perram shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, sorry, nothing to base it on - but certainly tens of thousands of years, probably more.”

  “I see,” said Rothschild. “And the hand-shaped thing . . . what was that all about?”

  “I don’t know about that either. If I was to guess, I’d say that it’s a key. A special key in a meaningful shape – symbolic. There would be relevance to it, sure there would.”

  “Why?”

  “Why a key? Because it was outside, some way up and on a flat platform – where you might expect a doorway, you know, some kind of entrance. Think of the ancient pyramids in South America, same sort of architecture.” Perram’s mind drifted and his eyes went blank. “We did some work down there once, a few years back. Jeez! That was confusing. Positive, negative . . . conflicting . . . Ike took some time off after that job.” Perram snapped back to reality and he looked Rothschild in the eye. “To Ike, the hand he saw was glowing, that usually means it has energy, or in this case perhaps, residual energy. I don’t know, maybe it’s still active . . . a key that would work?”

  Rothschild looked at Abbey. “We need to formulate a report and get it over to the ISSF. Some urgency about it I would say. Perhaps copy in General Roper and Commander Race in Osiris Base to save time – I’ll deal with the protocol. Our recommendation will be the lifting of the no-go zone around Elysium and an expedition as soon as possible. We need to take a closer look at these structures.”

  “Don’t forget that Ike saw something moving outside those pyramids,” Perram interjected. “He was quite clear about that.”

  Rothschild nodded in response. “Be sure to put that in the report, Abbey, please.” Rothschild glanced at the American. “Presumably you will formulate your own report and send it to Langley.”

  The man nodded. “It will go up the line from there. Can’t say more than that,” he answered, bluntly.

  “Edward, anything from you?” asked Rothschild, shifting his gaze and softening his expression.

  “Well yes, as a matter of fact there is. Rather interested in the first image that Mr Smith described. The barren landscape – a place sheltered from the sun. Quite a foreboding place it seemed to me. Bit of activity there. What would you say?”

  “You’re right. I overlooked that,” said Perram, referring to another page in his notes. “It’s a good question. Clearly, Ike passed this place on his journey to the object, so it’s between us. He sensed a good deal of movement but no life. Seems odd, doesn’t it?”

  “Could that image be what you have previously called ‘residual’? Something left over. What I mean is, could it have been buried in his memory from a previous journey?”

  “No, that’s not possible this time. Images from previous encounters would dissipate after a few months and certainly a year or so – that’s been our experience. Ike and I have been out much longer than that. No. This is new. It’s current, if you like. Definitely part of this viewing and what’s more I noted it as a very strong recollection.”

  “So, where is it, would you say?” pressed Rothschild.

  “Between the Earth and that space quadrant . . . ?” Perram thought for a moment. Well there aren’t too many places it can be, are there?”

  Dressed all in hospital whites – as was Ike Smith – the ageing man with his slightly obstinate manner sat passively waiting for Rothschild to formulate his own conclusion. His role was to present the facts – that was all.

  Rothschild leant forwards and stared intently. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Mr Perram?”

  “Listen . . . sir. Believe or don’t believe, it’s up to you. I get paid either way. But I would check out the dark side if I were you – just to be sure.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Incomplete Tapestry

  Whitehall London – next day

  08:07 Greenwich Mean Time

  Richard was shown to the chair in front of Peter Rothschild’s desk by Laura Bellingham. It had been an uneventful flight from El Nozha Airport and he had arrived at the MI9 Headquarters in a timely manner, having rested, showered and breakfasted in a ‘grace and favour’ apartment in Westminster Palace. He was surprised to hear that Rothschild was running behind schedule. Laura’s a little sheepish this morning and it’s unusual for Rothschild to be late, he thought, as he sat quietly with both hands on his lap. He looked at the marks on his hands from the fight in the barn. A few minutes later and looking pensive, Laura Bellingham arrived with the cup of tea that she had promised, although slightly disappointingly, the preferred mug was replaced by a bone china cup and saucer. Standards, he thought, thanking Laura with a smile. She left the door ajar.

  Richard surveyed the small but stately looking room with its wooden panelling and two picture windows and was beginning to think it quite familiar. Rothschild’s desktop was clear except for a telephone receiver, a traditional table lamp with a cream-coloured silk shade and a small integrated communications panel that protruded above the polished teak by about three centimetres. The panel housed a variety of switches and buttons. Outside, across the river, the sky was only just beginning to lighten and the fuzzy scene was reflected on the desktop. He sipped his tea and checked the time again.

  At nineteen minutes past the hour, Richard heard the voice of Rothschild outside. Unexpectedly sharp, he barked a number of instructions to Laura and then strode into the room. Richard stood out of politeness and offered a friendly smile but there seemed a black cloud over Rothschild’s head that followed him to his desk. He sat down, switched on the communications panel with a stab of his finger, sighed and shook his head in apparent frustration. Richard carefully lowered himself back into the chair and resisted taking another slurp of his tea. Here we go, he thought.

  “Do you know that a Code One message requires an immediate response, Richard,” Rothschild blurted, for his opening salvo. “Actually, the manual says within fifteen minutes unless in a life-threatening situation!”

  Richard shrugged. “Um, well, yes, I suppose.”

  “You suppose! I sent you four Code One messages – each one more important than the last and each warning of a potential threat to your life. Your first response was twenty-four hours later!”

  “Yes, right, that’s not so good, is it?” Richard rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “So, um, our friend Rhinefeld is back.”

  “He might be your friend, Richard, but he’s certainly not mine.” Rothschild shook his head and breathed out heavily. “Listen man, you must toe the line. We can’t have you doing your own thing out there, there’s too much at stake. Follow the rules for God’s sake, that’s all I ask. Otherwise you are going to get yourself killed and probably others too.”

  Richard nodded apologetically. “Copied,” he said.

  “Right . . . enough said.” Rothschild paused to take stock. “Now, with reference to Alexandria – I received your report yesterday evening but I haven’t had a great deal of time to look at it. I understand Mubarakar’s onto something, but it needs more work, that’s the gist . . . correct?”

  “Yes, he’s found something. It’s a primitive robot of sorts, believe it or not. It may hold clues to the original use of the crystals by the old people and that may help with how we utilise the ones we have – it’s definitely worth pursuing. He was going to make arrangements to transport it to Cairo, to the central museum – better facilities and security. Today or tomorrow I expect. We can work on it there and . . .”

  “We?”

  This is the difficult bit, thought Richard. “I need to get back to Cairo as soon as possible, Peter, and not just to rendezvous with Mubarakar. Madame Vallogia is still missing.”

  “I see.”

  “I managed to contact a few of her old friends – she doesn’t have any immediate family. No one has seen or heard from her for the best part of three weeks and
it’s been a month since she was last in her apartment. The cleaning agency told me that. She has duties in Cairo and she visits three days before the full moon each and every month without fail. The next full moon is in two days’ time. On top of that Asharf Makkoum has disappeared too, as has the Ark – I told you that. I’m becoming increasingly concerned. To be honest, I think she’s been kidnapped, but of course I’ve got no proof of that.”

  “Well we can’t go around jumping to conclusions, can we? That may draw some unwelcome attention. But yes, I understand your concerns. There’s a lot of subversive activity going on at the moment and I don’t like any of it. The Paris affair, for example; I thought the primary target may have been the Secret Service agent who escorted you – a revenge contract or similar. They wanted you because of what you may have seen – naive of me really. And there’s been trouble in Mexico – that’s how we found out about Rhinefeld. I think he’s after you, Richard. I think that he has been specifically recruited for that job, in fact. After all, he’s got a grudge hasn’t he? And, by all accounts, a permanent limp as a result of your last meeting.”

  “Karl Rhinefeld on my tail again – that’s all I need.” Richard’s brow furrowed. “He’s very resourceful. I wouldn’t put it past him to use Naomi Vallogia as a way of getting to me.”

  “Quite. And don’t forget that you were supposed to accompany Professor Jones to Uxmal. It’s rather fortuitous that you didn’t. Points to them knowing your whereabouts in advance. There’s nothing I hate more than a mole. Just adds to my headache.”

  “You’ve got a headache over me, Peter? How touching.”

  “It’s not just your life at risk here, Richard. So I suggest a little maturity.”

  “Yes, right.” Richard’s misplaced grin faded. He scratched his temple and after a lengthy pause he said: “Rhinefeld was brought in by Spheron the last time, and we know the other two conglomerates had an equal hand in that conspiracy. I know you think there is a resurgence in their illegal activities. Is this the proof you need to go to the ISSF about your suspicions?”