Threshold

by Jeremy Robinson

  “Hold on,” Davidson said, fingers working the keys. “If it’s a match, it shouldn’t take lo—”

  The results appeared on the screen, showing two sets of DNA markers. They were identical. “They’re the same,” Davidson said, stunned. “I was right. This clay wasn’t just an animated form resembling Richard Ridley, it was Richard Ridley.”

  He turned to Alexander, and then to King. “He was alive.”

  The silence that filled the room was broken by the ring of King’s cell phone. The ID read Lewis Aleman. King answered the phone. “What have you got, Lew?”

  “Last piece of the puzzle I hope,” Aleman replied, his response delayed by a second. “I’ve been running the chemical composition of the clay recovered from El Mirador through our system. And, well, I found a match.” He quickly followed with, “But it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Just tell me where it’s from,” King said.

  “Camp Alpha.”

  The name’s familiarity struck King instantly. It was the title of the U.S. military base established in the ruins of Babylon that had been rebuilt by Saddam Hussein. A large number of servicemen were stationed there, including a regiment of marines. Babylon made sense, being the origin of the Tower of Babel story, but it was also the last place anyone would think to look. “You’re sure?”

  “Yup. It’s straight from the Euphrates River, and I can peg it to Camp Alpha because of the unique contaminants it contains, courtesy of the U.S. of A.”

  Queen saw the bewildered look on King’s face. “What did he find?”

  “The clay is from Camp Alpha.”

  “Babylon,” Davidson said.

  Knight shook his head. “But how is he—”

  “The tower,” Alexander said. “He’s found the Tower of Babel. He’s not at Camp Alpha. He’s under it.”

  A sudden boom of metal coupled with the implosion of the warehouse’s metal roof made them forget all about the discovery. Large sheets of steel broke free and fell at them like giant playing cards. Honed by years of action, the instincts of the people in the room saved their lives. All but one of them managed to leap away as the giant blades fell from above.

  A slender sheet of metal fluttered high above Davidson for a moment, held aloft by its surface area. But Davidson, whose reaction was to flinch away and raise his hands, remained in the same position as the metal sheet tilted to one side and slid down like a guillotine. It sliced off his hand at the forearm. He opened his mouth to scream, but the sheet then struck between his shoulder and neck, shaving off a side of ribs and penetrating down to his gut. The weight of the giant metal playing card pulled him over. King saw the man, nearly cleaved in half. Davidson was dead.

  “This way!” Alexander shouted, leading the team out the back as a very large, unseen attacker pounded through the roof and made short work of the lab beneath.

  They exited through the back door into an alleyway where a very out of place black Mercedes waited for them. A moment later, the back wall of the warehouse fell in. King looked back to see a golem, constructed from a mishmash of metal from the warehouse, a car, and chunks of pavement, rise up, ready to strike the building once more. “In!” he shouted, opening the Mercedes’s back door. The team piled in and Alexander had them screeching down the alley in moments. The golem, as big as it was, would never catch them.

  Alexander stopped the car at the end of the alley and looked back. The golem was trying to force its way through the tangled ruins of the warehouse. He took a phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. He looked back again. A moment later the golem disappeared in a ball of fire that consumed the entire warehouse, destroying everything inside—the samples, lab equipment, and Davidson.

  As they drove away, King took a moment to mourn the death of Davidson, who had lost his life for something that wasn’t his problem. Then he focused on the nagging question that entered his mind the moment the attack had begun: How did he find us?

  The answer came quickly. He turned to Alexander. “Check your pockets. Your phone. Everything. One of us is being tracked.”

  Alexander pulled the car over. Despite the strange scene of two men patting themselves down by the side of the road, no one paid them any attention. All eyes were on the rising column of smoke.

  King had searched most of his body when he realized that the only article of clothing he had yet to change since his search for Fiona had begun was his cargo pants. He’d checked the pockets first, but neglected the cargo pockets lower on his leg. He could feel the aberration as he reached for it. He took hold of the small object and pulled it from his pocket. It was the size and shape of a Tylenol capsule.

  Alexander saw him holding it. “Destroy it.”

  King took it in both hands and snapped it in half. The fragile electronics within fell to the road.

  They entered the car again without a word shared. King sat with his arms crossed. He now knew how Ridley managed to stay one step ahead of him and Alexander while the others were able to catch him with his guard down. He knew why they’d been attacked so quickly at the university and in the warehouse. But there was one question nagging at him: Who had put the tracking device in his pocket, and when?

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Babylon, Iraq

  AS THE HUMMER door closed with a metallic clunk, King shook a storm of sand from his hair. Upon exiting the aircraft they had been greeted by a wall of airborn sand. It coated their clothing, filled their hair, and crunched between their teeth. Had the Republican Guard been as numerous and relentless, an invasion of Iraq would never have been possible. Luckily for the team, which now consisted of King, Queen, Knight, Bishop, and Alexander, the sand was only an annoyance.

  The heat was the real enemy. Though dry, the temperature was unbearable in the afternoon sun. Moisture was wicked away from the body as soon as it was sweat. The team carried water bottles with them, drinking constantly to keep dehydration at bay. They felt their journey was nearing an end, which meant a confrontation loomed on the horizon, and each one of them would need their strength.

  The trip to Iraq had been quick and comfortable aboard Alexander’s Gulfstream jet. Getting clearance to land had been easy, thanks to Deep Blue, and the Hummer waiting for them was fully gassed and holding their requested supplies. Energy bars and water were consumed en route. Desert camouflage uniforms were provided so they could move about Babylon without raising too much attention. And a cache of weapons, including five XM25 assault rifles. The XM25s weren’t scheduled for active-duty usage until 2012, but they’d been tested successfully in Iraq and Afghanistan since 2009. They were the future in handheld warfare, able to shoot both standard rounds and 25mm rounds that could explode after a specific distance determined by the weapon’s laser site. Hiding in a ditch or behind a wall offered no protection when up against the XM25’s smart rounds, which King hoped would also provide the punch necessary for fending off any stone golems.

  Two hours after touching down, King pulled onto the road leading toward Camp Alpha’s checkpoint gate. He’d waited long enough to broach this topic, but it could no longer be avoided. If Alexander tagged along with the team, he needed a call sign so anonymity could be retained. “You’re call sign will be Pawn for the duration of this mission,” King said to Alexander, who immediately burst out laughing.

  “It’s the call sign every temporary team member gets,” Bishop said.

  “It’s the irony I find amusing,” Alexander said. “I’m not opposed to the title. Pawn it is.”

  They passed a local bazaar full of brightly colored trinkets perfect for U.S. soldiers wanting to send home exotic gifts. The man behind the table gave them a smile and salute as they passed. Palm trees lined the road on both sides, obscuring the view of ancient ruins off to the right.

  Ignoring the sites, King pulled up to the Camp Alpha checkpoint. He flashed the ID that had been provided for him.

  Corporal Tyler, a young, crew-cut soldier with a southern drawl and matching cowboy swagger, approached from
the gatehouse. He looked at the ID then at the passengers in the car, noting the odd mix of Korean, Arab, Caucasian, and Greek passengers. “Mind if I check this out?” he asked, taking King’s ID

  “Go right ahead,” King said.

  Tyler walked back into the gatehouse and closed the door behind him. His skinny partner, Corporal Stevens, waited for him inside. He took the ID and looked at it.

  “USGS, my ass,” Stevens said. “We’re supposed to believe those guys are geologists?”

  Tyler worked a laptop, typing in King’s phony information. “You don’t buy it?”

  “No way, man. Look at them.”

  Both soldiers looked out the brown-tinged windows and saw King and Queen watching them from the Hummer. Tyler’s stomach tensed with intimidation.

  “Geez,” Tyler whispered.

  “You see, they’re way too badass,” Stevens said. “Twenty bucks says they’re Rangers or Delta.”

  The results of Tyler’s search appeared on screen. “Well, according to the database, they’re from the USGS. They check out and have clearance.”

  “You gonna ask them?” Stevens said. “Twenty bucks, man.”

  After activating the gate, Tyler grunted, took the ID, and headed back out to the Hummer. “You’re all set, sir.” As he handed the ID back to King, Tyler noticed Queen’s window was now rolled down.

  “You have twenty bucks?” she asked, holding out her hand.

  Tyler looked dumbfounded, but still being intimidated, reached into his pants pocket and took out a twenty-dollar bill. Queen snagged it and handed the money to King. “He bet me you wouldn’t have the guts to ask if we were Delta. And since I have no money on me and you lost me that bet, you’re paying.”

  Tyler was stunned and it showed on his face.

  “We can read lips,” Queen said as King began to pull through the open gate. She flashed a smile. “Everyone at the USGS can. Now go pay your friend.”

  Tyler walked back to the gatehouse and sat down on the single step. Stevens stood next to him, equally dumbfounded. “That was awesome.”

  Tyler gave a nod. “Yup.”

  * * *

  KING PULLED THE Hummer through and slowed as he approached a bend in the road. The Ishtar Gate stood before them. The original Ishtar Gate had been one of the seven ancient wonders of the world before being replaced by the Great Lighthouse at Alexandria. The original gate stood forty-seven feet tall, was constructed of blue bricks, and held over sixty yellow and white mosaic lions and dragons. Its central arch was the eighth gate into Babylon’s inner city.

  As King looked at Saddam’s smaller replica and pondered its history, he realized they had been driving over the buried ruins of Babylon for some time. The area they had to search was expansive, but hopefully not without some clues. Past the Ishtar Gate, King pulled the Hummer into a dirt parking lot full of military vehicles. He parked in front of the amphitheater where the U.S. military had first set up shop.

  They were quickly greeted by General Raymond Fowler, who had been briefed by General Keasling. They were to have free access to the ruins in and around the base, access to any equipment they requested, and, should they ask for it, the help of every enlisted man on base. The general had protested the orders until he found out they came directly from President Duncan.

  King exited the Hummer and squinted as the hot sandy Iraqi air assaulted him again. He gave Fowler a quick salute and shook his hand. Seeing the man’s skepticism, King said, “Sorry for the intrusion, General. We’ll try to be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

  The general forced a smile, which turned a scar on his cheek into an upside-down question mark, and hung on to King’s hand. “That’s kind of you, son. But I’d like to know if you all are going to stir up a hornet’s nest in my base.”

  “Sir?”

  “I know who you are. I know that you were a part of what happened back at Bragg. I need to know if I should expect something similar here.”

  King took no offense at the general’s forceful tone and the strong grip he maintained. “We hope not, sir. But … it might be best to keep your men on alert. We’re not sure what we’re going to find”—King looked at the sandy ruins—“out there.”

  Fowler let go of King’s hand. “Appreciate the candor. Will you need armed escorts?”

  King shook his head, no. “We need to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. Best if no one gives us any special attention.”

  “Understood,” Fowler said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Just keep the ruins clear while we’re out there.”

  “Are you looking for something in particular? We’ve been stationed here since 2003 and know every nook and cranny of the ruins.”

  “What we’re after is most likely beneath the ruins.”

  Fowler looked out at the ruins with suspicion in his eyes. Then he recalled something. “An archaeological team had been studying the ruins before we arrived. They were part of Saddam’s effort to rebuild Babylon and were searching for the more famous monuments, like the Hanging Gardens.”

  King tried to show no reaction. If they had been searching for the Hanging Gardens it’s possible they had also been searching for Babel. “That may be helpful. Knight, Bishop, why don’t you check it out? We’ll start in the ruins. General, do you know if the archaeologists working here are still around?”

  “Two of the lead archaeologists are dead,” Fowler said. “One is missing. But much of the support staff is still here in Baghdad. I’ll see who I can track down.”

  King gave a nod of thanks. He headed for the back of the Hummer, opened the trunk, and handed XM25s to Bishop and Knight. “Keep your ears and eyes open. If you find something that points us in a direction, let me know.”

  “You got it, boss,” Knight said before turning to the general. “After you.”

  Fowler gave the weapons a long look before he turned and walked away. “This way.”

  As Fowler led Knight and Bishop away, King turned back to the open Hummer and took out the most important piece of equipment they had with them. With the war in Afghanistan requiring better cave detecting equipment, the military had been borrowing technology from NASA’s Mars program. The result were handheld Quantum Well Infrared Photodetectors (QWIPs), which could see through the desert sand and collect thermal data. The resulting images were called thermograms. They showed the difference in temperature between desert sand or bedrock and the open space of a cave, or in this case, the open chamber of a buried tower. Since the user wore the device on the left hand—sensor in the palm facedown, images displayed on the forearm-mounted LCD display—King and his team could also carry their weapons without a problem.

  Armed with the most high-tech handheld weapons and technology the military had, King, Queen, and Alexander set off for the ruins of Babylon.

  SIXTY-SIX

  Babylon, Iraq

  KING TOOK A drink from the twenty-ounce bottle he’d been nursing for the past two hours. He knew he needed to get more liquid soon, but with Fiona’s insulin deadline long since up, he had to stretch the water as far as possible. And right now, that meant walking a grid over a very large area of desert. He had a second bottle with him meant for Fiona if he managed to find her. But if the day went long, he’d have no choice but to start on the second bottle.

  To anyone watching he would look like a delirious soldier with a penchant for checking the time as he kept his eyes on the LCD display on his arm. He had come across several air pockets but no actual caves, and certainly no ziggurat remains. While Queen and Alexander searched the maze of ruins in Babylon proper, King had pursued a different path. Between the bank of the Euphrates River and the exposed Babylonian ruins stood one of many palaces built by Saddam Hussein. A spiraling road rounded the tall mound it stood on. Built from brown stone, it was utilitarian save for the thick arches that surrounded the building and gave it a genuine Babylonian feel. Much of the symmetrical hill was clearly man-made, but Saddam was known for buildi
ng atop Babylonian ruins with no regard for what lay beneath. And when it came to his palaces, he had no trouble burying the past. What King wanted to know was how much of the hill existed before Saddam added to it. To find out, he’d push the QWIP to its limits.

  As he walked up the side of the hill, he activated his throat mic. “Find anything yet, Bishop?”

  Bishop’s voice returned. “Not a thing, but that’s not because there isn’t anything here, it’s because there’s too much.”

  “We’re drowning in old maps and notebooks,” Knight said.

  King had hoped intel would expedite the search, but it seemed finding anything useful in the archaeological archives was as much a needle in a haystack as finding a temple underground with thermal imaging. As he crossed the spiraling road and headed up the hillside, King watched the thermal imager. It showed solid earth all the way through.

  As the monotony of the image continued, he looked ahead. Brush and the occasional palm tree covered the hillside. He adjusted his path to avoid a tree and then looked to the west, over the Euphrates. From this high vantage point he could see the desert stretching out in all directions. It was massive—like a tan ocean speckled with floating ruins and carved by modern roads. Fiona was somewhere out there.

  As his patience began to fade, King noticed a hill on the other side of the river. Small ruins sat at its base. He toggled his mic again. “Bishop, did Babylon expand to the other side of the Euphrates?”

  “Hold on…” King could hear rustling paper and Knight’s voice in the background. “Yeah. Looks like a good portion of it did.”

  “That’s all I needed to know.” King broke contact and gave up on his current search. He turned and made for the bottom of the hill, where a U.S. military boat launch had been built. Three black patrol boats were tied to the docks, each with a mounted machine gun.

  As King approached the dock, a lone soldier stomped out a cigarette and blew the smoke from the side of his mouth. “You one of them USGS fellas I’m supposed to assist if asked?”