Area 51_The Mission

by Robert Doherty

  “The Chinese probably used a cruise missile.” Turcotte said. “The shield wall detonated it when the missile touched the shield because the wall picked up the EM emissions.”

  Duncan nodded. “Yes, but I think the wall still dissipated the blast somewhat. The experts are going over the information, but initial impressions are that damage was not as extensive as the Chinese would have liked. The tomb appears intact.”

  “And sealed off now like Easter Island,” Turcotte noted. “What about Che Lu? Was she inside?”

  “We don’t know. Imagery caught several groups of people outside the tomb just prior to the blast.”

  “If they were outside, they’re dead,” Turcotte said.

  “Radius of blast is ten kilometers. I’m hoping Che Lu stayed inside.” “But if she’s not in the tomb activating the shield,” Turcotte wondered, “then who is?”

  “STAAR.”

  Turcotte slumped down in a chair. “I’ve been thinking. STAAR knew there were Airlia still alive on the talon or that it was being remote-controlled—whichever—that’s the card Lexina was holding.”

  “Most likely.”

  “So they could be in communication with the talon?”

  Duncan shook her head. “I don’t know about that.”

  “So we’re back to not having a clue as to where STAAR is, who they are, what their goals are, and most important, what they are up to,” Turcotte summarized. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Plus we now have these Watchers. I don’t understand why they need to put their people on board the mothership if they have a cure.”

  “Maybe they can’t get the cure to all their people,” Duncan said.

  “More likely they want to keep them vulnerable to the Black Death,” Turcotte said. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the confusing information. “We’ve got to find The Mission. It’s our only chance.”

  “Kopina didn’t know where it was. And…” Duncan paused, looking off to her right. “I’ve got a message from Major Quinn at Area 51. Hold on.”

  • • •

  The entire mountain had shaken with the blast, but there was no visible sign of damage inside the tomb. Lo Fa had gone down the tunnel the mercenaries had left from and reported back that it was again sealed with dirt and rock.

  Che Lu had gone with him up the left corridor, where there had been a small shaft to the outside world. That shaft was also closed off now. Che Lu had stood for several moments on the right side of the corridor, where the shaft went down into the heart of Qian-Ling, trying to imagine what lay down there on the forbidden lowest level.

  They had finally returned to the control room where Elek was. “All those men had to have died in the blast,” Che Lu said.

  Elek simply stared at the old Chinese woman, his dark glasses hiding his eyes. “You are responsible for their deaths,” Che Lu added.

  “I did not detonate the nuclear weapon,” Elek said. “The Chinese government did. That is who is responsible.”

  “You brought those men here,” Che Lu said. “I don’t believe you really had a plan to get them out.”

  “Perhaps not,” Elek granted. “But that was their destiny, what they were. They fulfilled it.”

  “What destiny?” Che Lu challenged.

  “They were mercenaries. Soldiers for hire. Death is the natural conclusion to such an existence. It is what they are for.” Elek pointed a long pale finger at Che Lu and Lo Fa. “You think too much of yourselves.”

  Lo Fa muttered something, and Che Lu placed a hand on his shoulder. “Who thinks too much of themselves?” Che Lu asked.

  Elek smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth. “Most people. They think they are important and they aren’t.”

  “An interesting perspective,” Che Lu said. “What now?”

  “We wait.”

  “For what?”

  “Until someone brings us the key.”

  “What makes you think someone has it and what makes you think they’ll bring it here? And even if they do, how are they going to get it in to us?” Che Lu challenged.

  “We wait” was all Elek would say.

  • • •

  The inner hatch opened with a splash of water. Coridan and Gergor dropped several packages in before entering themselves and shutting the hatch behind them.

  “The Chinese dropped a nuclear weapon on Qian-Ling” was Lexina’s way of greeting them.

  “Elek?” Coridan asked.

  “Inside. He was able to get the shield up before the attack.”

  “The key?” Gergor asked.

  “The guardian in Qian-Ling has no record of it returning to China. It confirms that Cing Ho did take it with him in 656 B.C. to the Middle East.”

  Gergor shook his head, water flying off. “Fantastic. So we don’t have a clue.” “Be careful how you speak,” Lexina warned.

  Gergor arched an eyebrow. “I spent years in the ice and snow watching that place. My patience was sorely tested. But I did my job. It was your job—and the job of those before you—to maintain the records. You did not do your job well. That is our problem now. So be careful of how you speak to me.”

  “The records were lost long before my time,” Lexina said. “We have tried to reconstitute them.”

  Gergor shrugged. “I don’t care whose fault it is. We need the key. Now.” “The human shuttles were destroyed,” Lexina said.

  “Both of them?” Gergor was surprised.

  “The talon’s automatic defense system—which we knew was active—destroyed the one that went to it. Someone among the other shuttle’s crew was a Guide. But as soon as he acted, the shuttle imploded.”

  “The Watchers?” Gergor asked.

  “It could be,” Lexina allowed.

  “So they cannot use it to pick up their Guides and their followers,” Coridan said. “What will The Mission do now?”

  Lexina had been considering that same question. “I don’t know.”

  • • •

  As he waited for Duncan to get back with him, Turcotte pored over a map of South America, Yakov looking over his shoulder.

  “Could The Mission be at Tiahuanaco?” Turcotte asked.

  Yakov shook his large, shaggy head. “No. I was there.”

  “Well. Harrison had Tiahuanaco highlighted.”

  “That is because he knew of The Mission’s involvement with the death of that Empire,” Yakov said. “The records I found indicate the Black Death finished off the Aymara.”

  Turcotte ran a hand through his short hair. “Sister Angelina said The Mission was to the east, but that seems like the wrong direction.”

  “Perhaps—” Yakov began, but Duncan was back on the screen.

  “I’m forwarding you some text that Quinn’s people got out of the Scorpion Base hard drive.”

  “Does it pinpoint The Mission?” Turcotte asked.

  Duncan shook her head. “I don’t think STAAR knew where The Mission was either, but they were on its trail. You have to read it.”

  The screen cleared and then the rest of the document appeared.

  THE MISSION S South America

  (research reconstitution and field report 6/16/97 -Coridan-)

  Overview:

  In a previous report I described how The Mission appears to have been instrumental in the complete annihilation of the Aymara civilization, whose capital was in Tiahuanaco. This is connected to contact between the Aymara and the people of Easter Island (cross-reference an entry made on 5/24/96).

  The Mission departed South America for a long period of time, some records of its actions and locations are in other entries. It appears, though, that The Mission returned to South America sometime during World War II. After the war, it was a magnet for expatriate Nazis, particularly scientists who had worked in the camps.

  Due to the presence of these Nazis and their strong influence in their new land, The Mission has a built-in level of secrecy and security, a tactic it has used throughout the ages. Initially, I believe The Mission
was located in Paraguay. However, I am certain it moved from that country sometime in the 1970s. So far, I have only been able to cull some rumors out of those who might know something. One word that keeps coming up is the Devil, but The Mission has often been associated with demons or devils due to the nature of its work.

  Recommend we send an operative to search for the site of The Mission with the highest priority.

  “Ah.” Yakov was disgusted. “Our base for Section Four was called the Demon’s Station. This does not get us any closer to finding where The Mission is. Even STAAR had not found it.”

  “Or the Watchers,” Duncan said through the computer link.

  “Damn it!” Turcotte slammed a fist into his side. “South America is a big place. If these people had been looking for years, there’s no way we’re going to…” He paused. “Kourou.”

  “What about it?” Yakov asked.

  “When is the launch of the next four satellites scheduled?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Then The Mission will have to put their Black Death payloads into the rockets soon, right?”

  Yakov nodded.

  “But we got the payload from the last launch,” Turcotte said.

  “They were either refining the virus with this launch,” Kenyon said, “or making more. Most likely the latter, as they were confident enough to schedule the four launches for tomorrow. You said there were two previous launches. They most likely have Black Death virus from those that they can use.”

  “So they don’t have to have this load?” Turcotte asked.

  “I doubt it,” Kenyon said. “One thing, though—even as tough as this virus is—I’d say they’d have to keep it viable, which means keeping it refrigerated and not loading the payload dispersers until the last minute.”

  “I doubt they’re holding it at Kourou unless all of Europe is in on this,”

  Turcotte said. “The previous launches—where did they come down?” Turcotte asked.

  Duncan answered that: “Off the coast of French Guiana in the Atlantic.”

  “I saw something,” Turcotte muttered. He grabbed the map off the floor of the bouncer. He ran his finger along the coast, up from Brazil to French Guiana where Kourou was located.

  “It’s there,” he whispered. “It’s been there right in front of us all this time.”

  “What?” Duncan’s voice out of the speaker echoed Yakov’s.

  “The Mission.” Turcotte stabbed his finger on a spot on the map. “Right off the coast from Kourou. The old French prison. Devil’s Island.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “If you are wrong, we will have wasted critical time,” Yakov said. The Amazon rain forest was flashing by beneath the bouncer as they headed northeast toward the coast.

  “You got a better suggestion for the location of The Mission?” Turcotte asked. He held up his hand. A faint trace of black was under the skin. He felt terrible, a pounding headache on top of a fever. He held on to Baldrick’s last statement about a cure. It was their only chance.

  “If you are wrong, at least we will be close enough to Kourou.” Yakov said. “I will ensure those rockets never launch in the morning.”

  “Better to burn out than fade away,” Turcotte said. He knew what Yakov had in mind—a Special Operations warrior conducting a suicide mission was a most formidable foe. He had no doubt the two of them would be able to make a good charge at disabling those rockets no matter what security there was at the field. The problem, though, was that the Black Death would still continue burning through South America and eventually move outward from there. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a song,” Turcotte said. “Means it’s better to go out with a bang than a whimper.”

  “A bang, yes,” Yakov said. “That is what it would be.”

  “According to the information Dr. Duncan was able to find,” Turcotte said, “Devil’s Island has been abandoned since the Second World War. She’s having the NSA get some overhead shots and she’s tracking down the plans for the prison there.

  “From the little we know of it. this Mission uses people and things that are already established. Devil’s Island seems custom made for it. Add in the fact that Kourou is right next to it on the mainland and the first two satellites were recovered to the east of the island in the Atlantic and it all fits. Plus the name Devil’s Island, which corresponds to what Sister Angelina said.” Turcotte nodded. “This is it. I can feel it.”

  “I hope you are correct, my friend.” Yakov pointed to the left. “Because if you are wrong, that is our next slop.”

  • • •

  Brilliantly lit by spotlights, four Ariana rockets sat on the four launch pads at Kourou about eight miles to the north of where they were flying.

  “NSA Seven, this is Eagle Leader. Over.” Lieutenant Colonel Mickell released the transmit button on the radio and waited. He was in the cargo bay of an MC-130 Combat Talon—a specially modified version of the venerable four-prop Hercules transport plane that had been in the Air Force’s inventory for decades.

  The Talon was special in that it could fly very low, hugging the terrain, thus evading getting picked up on radar. This was a relatively easy flight so far, given that the flight path had been over water since reaching the Atlantic off the coast of South Carolina.

  The radio crackled as Duncan answered. “This is NSA Seven. Over.”

  “This is Eagle Leader. I’m calling for final mission authorization. Authenticate, please. Over.” Mickell released the send button.

  The radio hissed. “I authenticate NSA Directive 6-97. I say again, I authenticate NSA Directive 6-97. Over.”

  Mickell nodded. He at least had a pretense of legitimacy. “Roger, NSA Seven. I copy NSA Directive 6-97. Over.”

  “NSA Seven. Out.”

  Mickell keyed the mike again. “Tiger Leader, this is Eagle Leader. Did you copy NSA Seven? Over.”

  From two hundred fifty kilometers to the south the reply came back. “Roger that. I’ll get it cranking. Over.”

  “Good luck. Out.”

  Lisa Duncan put the SATPhone down. She was on board a bouncer, flying back to Area 51. She had far overstepped her bounds giving authorization for military action in a foreign country. NSA Directive 6-97 gave her some power, but not that much.

  “We’re six minutes out from Area 51, ma’am,” the pilot announced.

  “Thank you,” Duncan said. She called ahead and had Major Quinn patch into the SATCOM frequency for the Delta Force operation.

  • • •

  Turcotte sat on the opposite side of the tree trunk from Yakov. Kenyon was slightly behind him. They were near the top of a knoll. Below them were the old walls of the abandoned French prison. Beyond the prison, the Atlantic Ocean crashed into the rocky shoreline with thunderous breakers.

  The bouncer had dropped them off on Devil’s Island, on the opposite side of a ridge behind the supposedly long-abandoned prison. The island was rough and heavily vegetated. The prison was on the western side, a walled compound about two acres in size. Turcotte, Kenyon, and Yakov had quickly hiked over the ridge to their present location. “The Mission must be in the old prison,” Yakov said.

  Turcotte pointed to the right. “Two boats are tied to the pier.” The pier was about a mile from the prison.

  “One is a patrol boat.” Yakov noted the dark silhouette, dimly lit by a couple of lights on the pier. “Russian made. We have made some good money selling items like that to the highest bidder in the past several years. Pauk class. It could have been used to pick up the satellites in the water. The other boat is smaller.” He turned his attention back to the prison. “There’s a helicopter inside the walls,” he noted.

  Turcotte pulled a set of night-vision goggles out of his pack and put them on. “Guards. Four on the dock. Others along the top of the wall and inside the compound. About fifteen.”

  “I think you have—how do you say—hit the jackpot,” Yakov said.

  Turcotte slipped the pack o
ff his back and pulled out a SATCOM radio. He unfolded the tripod legs of the little dish and angled it up to the sky, then hooked in a scrambler and put on a small headset. He did a trial shot and got a successful bounce back from the communications satellite, indicating he was on the right direction and azimuth.

  He hooked a small portable printer into the radio along with the laptop computer. It was a long way from his time in the infantry when he’d gone to the field with just a bulky FM radio for communications.

  “I’ve got a link to both Duncan and Area 51,” Turcotte confirmed to Yakov.

  The printer came alive and a sheet of paper scrolled out. “Current real-time thermal of the island from a KH-12 spy satellite,” Turcotte said. He tapped two small red dots. “That’s us.”

  “Amazing” was Yakov’s take on that.

  “And we’re not alone.” Turcotte slid his finger along the paper. “This dark blue square is the other wall of the prison. This building inside has people in it.” There were about a dozen red dots on the paper. “And the guards at the dock and people on both boats.”

  Turcotte frowned. “The chopper is red. The engine is still hot.”

  “You think they have already delivered the payload to Kourou?” Kenyon asked.

  “I don’t know,” Turcotte said. “You said they needed to keep it refrigerated. Let’s hope they haven’t taken it out yet. I’d say if the boats are still here, the Black Death is still here.”

  “So what do we do now?” Yakov asked.

  “We wait for just a little while, then we go visiting.”

  “I will stop those rockets from taking off at Kourou no matter what,” Yakov vowed once more.

  “Let’s start here,” Turcotte advised.

  • • •

  Lisa Duncan was walking a fine line. She had told no one other than Turcotte about Kopina’s action in destroying the shuttle Endeavor. She wanted to stay clear of the official reaction to that event and the destruction of Columbia by the talon. With one fell swoop, two-thirds of America’s space fleet was gone; only the shuttle Atlantis, currently being refitted, was left.