Threshold

by Jeremy Robinson

  “Stay with me,” King said.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” Bowers said, his voice shaking. “I’m sticking to you like a tick on a collie’s dick.”

  Despite the circumstances, King grinned. Bowers’s colorful language reminded him of Rook. As they ran across the road and started up the hill that led past Saddam’s Babylon palace, King glanced back.

  Mantises didn’t attack from the air, so the pair had to land and give chase. Given their slow and clumsy landing, King guessed these two had never landed, let alone flown before. The skill was instinctual though, and they would soon be cruising over the sand once again.

  Bowers looked back as he ran up the hillside. The mantises were already gaining on them. “Oh damn. Oh damn!”

  Not watching his step, Bowers tripped over some brush. He fell forward, striking his face hard on the loose soil, getting a mouthful of gritty dirt in the process. King took him by the shoulder, yanked him up, and shoved him forward.

  “Move soldier!” King shouted. “I will not stop to pick you up again!”

  Bowers charged up the hill. The mental spanking was exactly what he needed to keep his mind off the giant monsters trying to eat them alive. But King’s mind remained on both running and the mantises, because unlike Bowers, if he didn’t also figure out how to kill the monsters, they would both be dead.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  BEFORE KING EVER exited the sandy tomb, Knight and Bishop followed Rahim toward the river, walking at a quick pace. Knight had a pair of binoculars out and ready. When they cleared the base, Rahim pointed to a mound across the river. “Over there. Just above those ruins.”

  Knight raised the binoculars to his eyes and looked. “He’s not there.” He scanned the area, eventually reaching the river. “Hold on. There’s a soldier in a patrol boat. Looks like he’s waiting for someone. But he’s calm.”

  They headed closer, skirting the river.

  As they walked, more than a few soldiers stopped to give them odd looks. None of them had ever been seen on base before. Two of them were of Arab descent, one in plainclothes and one of them was Korean. Knight did his best to offer reassuring smiles. He knew they looked like a mini Axis of Evil to the men posted here.

  Knight’s honed senses suddenly picked up on a subtle pressure wave. He stopped and looked around. No one else had detected it, not even Bishop. Binoculars raised, he looked across the river again. A puff of sand rose up into the air above the mound. Then King appeared from within, unarmed and running. He could see him shouting at the man in the boat. Then something rose out of the sand behind King.

  He could see two large creatures with spindly limbs, but as they climbed onto the sand, their brown color blended perfectly and hid them from view.

  “What the…” He lowered the binoculars and spun around. They’d passed a security tower on their way to the river. The men inside would have a sniper rifle.

  “Head for the river,” he said to Bishop, handing him the binoculars.

  Bishop took a quick look through the binoculars, located King’s position, and took off running. Knight ran in the opposite direction, leaving a stunned Rahim standing alone in the middle of the road.

  Knight reached the security tower and threw himself onto the ladder. He landed on the fourth rung up and then climbed it as deftly as a monkey. At the top, he launched himself over the sandbag wall and landed hard on the other side. The two soldiers sitting inside the small, windowed room atop the tower flinched and drew their weapons.

  When Knight raised his hands, showing himself to be unarmed, one of the men said, “We could have killed you!”

  The other, who was less concerned with Knight’s safety, said, “Who are you and what the hell are you doing up here?”

  “I need your sniper rifle,” Knight said, looking at the weapon propped up in the corner next to the grumpy soldier. It was a standard-issue rifle with a day scope. It would be accurate, but its bolt action would slow him down as each round had to be chambered by hand.

  The grumpy soldier scoffed. “No fucking way.”

  “Do me a favor and take a look across the river,” Knight said. “Through the scope.”

  Curiosity got the best of the grumpy soldier. He squinted at Knight as he picked up the weapon and pulled up the scope flaps. He set the weapon down on the railing and scanned the opposite shore. A moment later he stepped back quickly, standing tall. His skin, tanned from the Iraqi sun, went white.

  “Right now your heart is pounding in your chest,” Knight said. “Your breathing is faster than a machine gun. You’re scared shitless, probably shaking, and couldn’t hit a target from ten feet. So you’re going to let me use this weapon and save those men.”

  Rapid machine-gun fire broke out in the distance. Both men tensed. Knight moved. He reached in front of the stunned soldier and took his weapon. Neither man protested. Instead, they stood behind Knight and watched. In the distance, a security boat was backing across the river, a man on the machine gun firing at the far side.

  Knight chambered a round and took aim. Through the powerful scope he watched the boat slam into the far shore. Then they were running up the hill toward the palace. But the giant creatures he’d seen before had disappeared.

  Where did they go?

  He got his answer a moment later as two massive insects—mantises—took to the sky, flew over the river, and landed behind King. He took aim and fired at the lead creature. The bullet crossed the half-mile distance and overshot the creature. He turned an annoyed glance on the grumpy soldier. “When was the last time this weapon was calibrated?”

  The man offered a guilty shrug.

  “Sonofabitch,” Knight grumbled as he chambered a second round and took aim again. The mantises were already charging up the hill, concealed by brush, trees, and perfect desert coloring. He could see them moving within, but didn’t want to waste rounds only to shoot something nonvital.

  He scanned up the hill and saw King pause. “Don’t stop,” Knight said. “Don’t stop!”

  The lead insect cleared the brush at the top of the hill and lunged into the air, its two forelimbs ready to strike. Knight held his breath as King turned around positioning his face right in front of the outstretching limbs.

  * * *

  AS KING AND Bowers reached the top of the hill, King stopped and told Bowers to head for the ruins. It was a straight shot, downhill. Bowers should have no trouble making it, King thought, unless he falls again.

  He turned around to see how close the mantises were and found two dagger-lined limbs opening up to embrace him. With a violent, bloody death only a few inches and a fraction of a second away, King did the only thing he could: closed his eyes.

  The sound didn’t register until after the event took place, but King heard a close, wet sucking sound followed by a distant thunderclap as a single round was fired.

  King was struck hard and knocked to the ground, but his head was still intact and the attack did not continue. He scrambled up and found a headless mantis at his feet. King saw gore sprayed across the palace wall and traced an imaginary bullet trajectory back across the base to where a security tower stood.

  King knew of only one man who could hit a moving target from that distance.

  Knight.

  A glint of light from the tower flashed a message in rapid-fire Morse code: run.

  King obeyed as the brush near the top of the hill shook with the approach of the remaining mantis. His feet carried him swiftly down the hill. So swift, in fact, that he caught up to Bowers and maintained a healthy distance from the mantis. He could hear the distant sniper rifle shots being fired by Knight, but had no idea if he was hitting his target. So when they reached the bottom of the hill, which ended at a football field–sized stretch of desert sand, King gave Bowers a shove and urged him to move faster.

  As they crossed the sand, King looked back and saw the mantis exit the protection of the hillside brush. A round immediately struck one side and burst out the ot
her. The mantis staggered, but then took flight, following an erratic flight path that was impossible to predict.

  As they approached the edge of the ruins, King said, “Head for the back. There are two people inside that can help. Just keep moving until you find them.”

  Bowers looked at King, his eyes wide with fear. “Why are you telling me all of this? Tick on dick, remember?”

  “Because we’re splitting up,” King shouted.

  The ruins loomed before them. Though he could only see the arched entrance and the halls that led to the left and right behind it, King knew the ruins were a labyrinth of open halls, chambers, and atriums. “I’ll get you over that first wall,” he said to Bowers. “Then you’re on your own.”

  Bowers gave a grateful nod.

  Then they were at the dull brown wall. It stood eight feet tall. King clasped his hands together. Bowers stepped onto King’s hands and working together, they launched him up and over the wall. “Good luck, man,” Bowers said after landing.

  But King had no time to reply. The flying mantis descended toward him. Adapting to its prey, this mantis was going to attack from the air! But it didn’t attack. Instead, as the hum of its clear wings grew intense, the insect rose up and over the eight-foot wall.

  “No!” King shouted. “Bowers, run!”

  But it was too late. As the giant predator descended on the other side of the wall, Bowers let out a scream. The shrill sound turned to a wet gargle. Silence followed, then the sound of something tearing, followed by more silence. King had seen the mantis in action and knew what happened. Bowers had been impaled, pinned to the ground, and then left. The mantis was still on the hunt.

  King ran to the left, entering the maze. Before he reached the first turn, he heard the telltale clack of the mantis walking on stone, but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

  King tore around the corner, weaving his way through the chaotic ruins. An opening in the wall to his right opened up into a courtyard. Bowers lay in the center of the space, his eyes glossy, his body surrounded by a pool of dark red blood. King pushed forward and spilled from a hallway into what had once been a kitchen. He leaped over the three stone stairs that descended into the room and then over the three-foot foundation to exit on the other side.

  As he ran past an open doorway, he caught sight of an aberration in the wall. Then he was struck in the side and sent sailing. He slammed into a wall, tearing ancient bricks away as he attempted to stop his descent. But the wall was old and weak. He toppled over, landing on his back.

  Loud clicks filled the air as the agitated insect wiggle-walked into the hallway. King pushed away, sliding on his back. But there wasn’t far to go. The hall ended at a ten-foot-tall dead end just a few feet behind him. He got to his feet, hoping to dodge the mantis’s strike, and then? He had no idea.

  A loud whistle caught his attention. Looking beyond the mantis, he saw Queen, XM25 aimed straight for the mantis’s back. But the high-caliber rounds would pierce the mantis and strike him as well. “Down!” she shouted.

  King hit the deck hard.

  The mantis struck.

  The roar of automatic gunfire filled the air.

  Pain lanced through King’s body, but being impaled by a score of daggers didn’t hurt as much as King thought it would. He looked up to find a bullet-ridden mantis standing above him. Its back was arched back in death. The spikes lining its forearm had merely grazed his leg, opening a shallow cut. King dodged to the side as the massive insect toppled over. He fell forward as he ducked the flailing limbs of the dead mantis. He landed hard and rolled onto his back. With the beast immobilized, he lay still, breathing hard. Anger coursed through him.

  “You okay?” Queen asked, looking down at him.

  “It killed Bowers,” he said. “He was a good man.”

  A gloved hand reached down to help King up. “Good men die every day,” Alexander said.

  King ignored his outstretched hand and took Queen’s instead. She pulled him fast. He turned to Alexander. “Not on my watch.”

  Bishop arrived a moment later, KA-BAR knife drawn and ready to use. Seeing the dead insect, he sheathed the knife. “What is it?”

  “A breadcrumb,” King replied. “They were here.” He pulled the ruined insulin pump from his pant pocket. “She was here.”

  And with all the mantises now dead, he turned his attention to the problem still at hand. “Did I hear Knight correctly? The tower isn’t here?”

  Bishop shook his head. “It’s not.”

  “Shit,” King muttered, rolling his neck as it tensed. If they didn’t find Fiona and soon …

  Bishop’s strong hand on his shoulder stopped his rising anger. “But I think we have someone who can point us in the right direction.”

  SEVENTY-TWO

  RAHIM RIFFLED THROUGH a stack of paper, looking for a map he keenly remembered but had no idea if it still existed. The four large, serious men and one woman standing behind him, arms crossed, faces grim, fueled his urgent search.

  They had found him right where they left him, standing by the river. When he heard the gunfire begin he ducked down and hid at the side of the road. Not knowing what the conflict was about or who it was between, he wanted to look as innocent and nonthreatening as possible. So he waited.

  But when they did find him, all of the politeness and patience was gone. They needed an answer to a single question and they wanted it now. There was no threat included with the question, but Rahim could feel the tension from the one they called King.

  He searched a new box and opened a journal. Recognizing the handwriting of the man he’d assisted for three years gave him some relief. He was on the right track. “I think this is the right box,” he said.

  King sat down next to him and spoke in Arabic. “I don’t understand. Most people believe the Tower of Babel is here in Babylon, that it might even be the reason for the city’s name. Why would someone think it was in Turkey?”

  As he flipped through the stack of pages inside the box, Rahim said, “Photos. From NASA. They showed evidence of a large, ancient construction project. But where you’d expect to see exactly what was built, there was only a mountain. Furthermore, a reinterpretation of ancient texts also lends credibility to the theory. The Targum Yonathan, an Aramaic version of the biblical accounts, states that the tower was in the ‘land of Shinar,’ which is now the Pontus region of Turkey, near the Black Sea.”

  King turned to Knight. Check in with Deep Blue. See if we can get satellite imagery for the Pontus region of Turkey.”

  “Will do,” Knight said before exiting.

  “Furthermore, many academics believe that this region is also the birthplace of most modern languages. Texts and verbal traditions can be traced back to Pontus.” Rahim saw a folded map marked in red pen. He recognized it and yanked it out of the box. He smiled wide as he unfolded it. “Here it is!”

  He laid the map out. It was a modern map of Turkey, but had been written on in Arabic and a small location—a mountain—had been circled in red. Next to it was Arabic text: which translated as Tower of Babel.

  “This is a mountain,” King said. “There are no sands to bury a ziggurat. Wouldn’t there be some evidence of it on the surface?”

  Rahim pointed out the mountain’s rounded, flat top. “At some point in the distant past this mountain was a volcano. It’s possible the tower was buried, or destroyed, in an eruption.”

  “Buried beneath a pyroclastic flow,” King said. “Like Pompeii.”

  “Exactly,” Rahim said.

  “Is it possible Ridley figured all this out?” King asked, looking at Alexander.

  “When he determined that the Tower of Babel was not here, assuming this theory was published, he would pursue it,” Alexander replied.

  “Has the theory been published?” King asked Rahim in Arabic.

  “It’s not widely known,” the man said, “but I do believe it has been published several times since our search here ended.” He became nerv
ous and fidgeted with his hands.

  King noticed. “What is it?”

  “You said a name,” the nervous Iraqi said. “Ridley.”

  King, Queen, Bishop, and Alexander tensed. “Yes,” King said.

  “The man who funded our search here. His name was Richard Ridley.”

  King nearly fell over. Ridley had been searching for Babel before he was even on their radar, before the mess with Hydra. And after all his searching, he’d found what he was looking for. “How deeply was he involved?”

  “He would visit once, maybe twice a year. One time he came with Saddam himself. But that ended in 2003, when”—he motioned at the mass of boxes around him, but seemed to imply the base as a whole—“all this happened.”

  “And what about the Hanging Gardens?” King asked. “Did he know about them?”

  Rahim shook his head. “The site was discovered just before the war. I don’t believe he ever knew what we believed was buried there.”

  Which is why he looked for the tower there, too, King thought. But when he didn’t find it, he set up shop temporarily and then moved on.

  “And he wouldn’t have been told about the site in Turkey?” King asked.

  “It was just a theory some of the archaeologists held and had nothing to do with the dig here,” Rahim said.

  King nodded. It all made sense.

  Light filled the room as Knight returned. “We’ll have a satellite over the area in twenty minutes and we’re cleared for a drop in Turkey. The Crescent is en route. We can be on the ground inside of three hours.”

  “Thank you, Rahim. We’ll send someone to pick you up,” King said as he took the map and headed for the door. The others left ahead of him as Knight held the door.

  Knight stopped King at the door. “Something’s going on back home. Deep Blue didn’t sound like himself.”

  “How’d he sound?” King asked.

  “Distracted.”

  King knew about the media blitzkrieg back home and wondered how Duncan would handle it. If his distraction was noticeable on the phone, then he must be close to a solution. The man could handle just about anything thrown at him. He’d come up with a solution. He just hoped the solution would be permanent. The team needed Deep Blue. He ran the show for a reason. He couldn’t help wondering how things would have worked out if Duncan had been on board as Deep Blue. Rook might not be M.I.A. The dead Delta operators might still be alive. And Fiona might already be back in his arms.