A thin leather portfolio, the cover worn and aged, caught his attention, crammed in among other folders. He reached down and pulled it out. The swastika on the cover was the first thing he noticed, then he realized it was part of what Turcotte and Yakov had recovered from the Moscow Archives. It contained documents written in German. He realized that it must have been sent to the Cube intelligence section for translation, but given that there was no longer a Cube intelligence section, it had been rerouted back to him.
Summoning up four years of college German and one tour of duty stationed in Stuttgart, Quinn began reading. He quickly realized that the paper in front of him was about Okpashnyi, the strange alien creature that Turcotte and Yakov had seen stored both at Section IV in Russia and in the German archives that had been moved from Berlin to Moscow at the end of the World War II. According to this report, both alien bodies had been recovered during a Nazi expedition to Tunguska in 1934. The creatures were composed of a spherical body, head with multiple eyes, and radiating out of the center were several, seemingly independent and interchangeable limbs.
First, Quinn found it strange that Germans had been able to search that far into Russia in 1934. Second, and more important, what were the Okpashnyi? Were they pets of the Airlia? Then there was what General Hemstadt of The Mission had said to Yakov just before dying — mentioning the word Tunguska.
Quinn scanned the document, which was a summary of the underlying after-action report from the expedition. The Okpashnyi had been found in the wreckage of an alien craft, origin unknown.
A paragraph near the bottom of the page caught his attention. It listed casualties from the expedition. Five men had died, cause of death not listed except that they had died in service of the Fuehrer.
Quinn thumbed through the documents below, searching for a report on the casualties, his curiosity piqued. He found the more detailed casualty report buried three quarters of the way into the folder.
The men had been infected by what the writer called an “alien infection” brought on by the discovery that one of the Okpashnyi was still alive in the permafrost and the subsequent thawing of it. The five had been shot by their own comrades to keep the infection from spreading.
Quinn hurriedly scanned the other pages in the report, but there was nothing else on the Okpashnyi that had been found alive. Only the two that Turcotte and Yakov had seen were listed on the transport manifest back to Berlin.
Quinn sat back in his chair overlooking the Cube, and tapped his fingers rapidly on the report. Something had happened over sixty years ago at Tunguska, something so terrible that it had been stricken from the report. What the hell was this Okpashnyi?
He was distracted from these thoughts as someone yelled out an update on the assault force heading toward Mount Sinai.
CHAPTER 22
The Mission, Mount Sinai
The heavy wooden door creaked slowly open. Aspasia’s Shadow spun about, anger twisting the smooth skin of his face into an ugly mask, the sword half raised in threat. He was processing information from the Easter Island guardian. The attack had been a complete success and he had more than doubled his military power. The next phase of operations was already under way. He had the initiative and he planned on keeping it.
“I ordered no interruptions.”
“Sir—” The guard cowered. “There are helicopters inbound. Many helicopters. From Israel.”
Aspasia’s Shadow cursed. He strode from the room, the sword tight in his grip.
* * *
The Cobras led the way, less than twenty feet above the rocks and sand. The pilots had cut their teeth in Lebanon, flying through the streets of Beirut, having RPG rockets fired at them at point blank range. This flight was a “Hollywood” run so far — easy and sweet.
A mile behind the Cobras, the five Blackhawks carried the elite of the Israeli military. Weapons locked and loaded, the members of Unit 269 were hardened soldiers in one of the most war-torn places in the world. They sat in their web seats armed with the new Tavor assault rifles and carrying satchels of demolitions. They were uncertain what their mission was, but listened as Sherev’s voice came over their unit net telling them where they were going. Mount Sinai. A door needed to be blown open at the base of a rock spur.
The place meant something even to those hardened by the death they had seen and dealt. A place of the faith of their country.
This wasn’t hunting terrorists who set off car bombs or a punitive raid, or an assassination of an enemy of the state. This was something unprecedented, even though they weren’t exactly sure what it was.
Sherev’s last words hit home. “Our goal is to recover the Grail and the Ark of the Covenant.”
“The what!” the unit commander asked, not certain he had heard correctly. “The Ark and the Grail. Get them and bring them back. And the urim and thummin.”
“And anyone we encounter?” the commander asked.
“There is an American woman by the name of Duncan, being held prisoner. Try to rescue her. Everyone else — kill them.”
* * *
The SATPhone received an imagery download from the closest spy satellite. Turcotte had the imagery displayed on his helmet screen, then he enhanced it. “The west side,” he told Sherev and Yakov.
“I don’t see it,” Yakov said.
“There’s a shadow,” Turcotte said. “That must be the spur. And a thin line indicating the trail.”
Sherev relayed the information on the exact location of the spur to the helicopters. “Lead Cobra will be on target in three minutes,” he informed Turcotte and Yakov.
Turcotte had one of his radios set to another frequency with which he was talking to the fire control officer of the AC-130.
“Specter,” he ordered as the computer switched him to that frequency.
* * *
Five thousand feet above the Sinai Peninsula, Captain Debbie Macomber heard Turcotte’s call in her headset and responded. “This is Spooky Four-Niner. Over.”
“This is Area Five-One-Six. Time on target? Over.”
Macomber had two main screens she was concerned with. One displayed the AN/AAQ-117 Forward Looking Infrared Radar and the other the APG-80 Fire Control display, the same as that used by the F-15E fighter. She was seated in a small, enclosed area in the front part of the cargo bay of the modified C-130 aircraft. On one side of her was the electronic warfare officer, and on the other the TV and IR sensor operators, who made sure she saw the targets regardless of light or weather conditions.
“Three minutes. We’ll be four thousand feet above highest ground point. Over.”
The rest of the large cargo bay held the weapons systems, all pointing out the left side of the craft — a GAU-12 25mm Gatling gun; an L60 40mm cannon; and farthest to the rear, an M-102 105mm cannon. Through the controls on the console in front of her, Macomber could fire all three guns at the same time at three different targets with pinpoint accuracy. Macomber could put a round in every square foot of a target the size of a football field in less than twenty seconds.
She had two primary methods of aiming the guns.
One was to run a computer program using targeting information from the intelligence information which she had programmed. The other was manually, which consisted of her tapping the interactive screen and the guns firing at whatever her finger touched.
Macomber was a graduate of the Air Force Academy who had fought to get this assignment: the first woman assigned to the elite Special Operations Wing that flew the Specters and Talons. She’d fought all her life. Her parents died in a car accident when she was three, and she was raised by her grandmother on a ranch in Montana, a place where most considered it a man’s land and a man’s job. A picture of her grandmother was taped to the monitor for inspiration.
“Do you have our friends accounted for?” Turcotte’s voice crackled in her ear. “Over.”
“See them clearly,” Macomber replied.
* * *
The Cobras were flying single
-file in a draw, completely masked from Mount Sinai as they approached. The Blackhawks carrying the assault force were two minutes behind. It was precision flying, the sides of the canyon only a few feet from the tips of their blades on either side.
Since they were masked, they couldn’t see the cloud that began boiling out of the top of the mountain.
* * *
Turcotte felt the adrenaline kicking in. The suit was tight against his body, and for the first time he felt its power. If MJ-12 under the control of The Mission had siphoned Airlia technology to develop this, he felt it was appropriate it was being used in this assault. He turned and faced Yakov. The Russian gave him a thumbs-up. Sherev had one cup of the radio headset pressed tight against his right ear, listening to his helicopters’ frequency. Turcotte could hear all the frequencies overlapping each other in his helmet.
Through the skin of the bouncer, Turcotte could see the rock walls flashing by when he checked the view through his down mini-cams, sometimes less than a couple of feet away. He hoped they had the advantage of surprise. The tail boom of the last Blackhawk suddenly appeared ahead. He braced himself as the bouncer jerked upward over the lip of the canyon.
The Blackhawks were lined up in the canyon, moving at forty knots. Ahead of them were the Cobras, approaching the end of the canyon. Scanning up, Turcotte could see Mount Sinai — and the black cloud that now covered the top of its peak.
“This is not good,” Yakov understated.
The lead Cobra came out of the canyon and gained altitude, heading toward Mount Sinai. Behind it the other seven flared up, spreading out. “Hold the Blackhawks in the canyon,” Turcotte advised Sherev.
The Israeli relayed the order. Turcotte switched to the IR, then light amplification, but neither could penetrate the cloud.
Turcotte keyed his radio. “Spooky, can you see anything with your IR through that cloud? Over.”
The bouncer was now above the lead Cobra, less than three miles from the mountain.
* * *
Macomber had several views of Mount Sinai displayed in front of her. One was from a TV camera mounted in the nose of the plane, showing normal daylight view. Another was from the infrared sensor which normally could pierce through clouds and fog. But whatever was obscuring the top of the mountain was not a normal cloud or fogbank, as it was impervious to the IR imager. “Negative. I’ve got nothing.”
* * *
Yakov pointed. “There’s the spur.” A finger jutted up from the side of Mount Sinai, exactly as Burton had described, just below the cloud.
“I’m going to have the—” Sherev began, but his words were cut off by a bolt of lightning flashing out of the dark cloud. It struck the lead Cobra dead on. The helicopter exploded, debris littering the rocky ground.
The other attack gunships scattered. Another bolt, another helicopter gone. Sherev was yelling into his radio, trying to coordinate his forces. Turcotte contacted the Talon. “I need suppression, now!”
* * *
Macomber never fired without a clear lock on a target, given that the Specter gunship had all-weather, all-visibility capability. But throughout her career she’d had to work twice as hard as her male peers to be accepted in the elite Special Operations Wing, and that meant extra preparation. She hit one of the keys on her board and a computer simulation outlining Mount Sinai, as it had been mapped by satellite imagery, appeared on her targeting screen overlying the strange fog. She’d prepared a dozen firing programs and accessed one.
“Firing,” she told Turcotte as she pressed the execute key.
* * *
Turcotte saw a string of red lanced down from the Specter, lashing into the fog even as another lightning bolt came out, destroying a third helicopter. The string was a line of 20mm shells. Also firing, the 40mm and 105 Howitzer sent rounds raining down.
Turcotte tapped Sherev’s arm with his one free hand. “We’ve got to go in now!”
The Israeli’s jaw set, knowing what was implied in giving that order. He keyed his radio. “All units attack, all units attack. Gunships suppressing fire, assault force to the doorway location.”
The surviving Cobras stopped their evasive maneuvers and headed for the fog, gaining altitude. The Blackhawks lifted out of their canyon hide and flitted forward, straight for the rock spur.
Another lightning bolt took out a fourth Cobra. But the Israeli pilots didn’t waver, going right at the source of their death.
The Cobras began firing, spraying their minguns at the top of the mountain, adding to the rounds from Specter. Another Cobra exploded. The Blackhawks were less than a mile from the spur.
“Go,” Turcotte ordered the bouncer pilot. He locked the suit legs to keep from falling as the bouncer accelerated, racing past the Blackhawks.
A streak of lightning came out of the cloud, heading for the bouncer. Sherev and Yakov took steps back, throwing their hands up reflexively as they could see the bolt come straight for them. It hit.
The alien craft shuddered, knocking Yakov and Sherev off their feet. The two struggled to get up, but the floor was canted at an extreme angle, and they slid to the down side.
“We’re losing power!” the pilot yelled. “I’m slowing us as much as I can.” Turcotte could see Mount Sinai rapidly approaching as the bouncer lost altitude. He reached down and grabbed Yakov with one mechanical hand and lifted Sherev with the arm that had the MK-98. The suit strength amplifiers strained from the pressure as he lifted both men off the floor of the bouncer. He flexed his knees.
They hit and went from forty miles an hour to a dead halt in a microsecond. Turcotte crumbled to the ground, even the suit’s amplifiers giving way now and the entire system overloading. But it had been enough to save Yakov and Sherev, the arms and legs acting like shock absorbers, reducing the force of the impact. The pilots were thrown about in their harnesses and knocked unconscious.
Turcotte was in darkness. He tried to move but nothing happened.
Two more Cobras were destroyed in rapid succession as the Blackhawks closed to within a half mile of the spur.
* * *
Aspasia’s Shadow was standing in a hemispheric room deep inside Mount Sinai. The sword was set into another crystal, this one dark red and only two feet high, directly in front of him. A golden field emanated out of the pommel of the sword, encapsulating Aspasia’s Shadow and touching the equidistant curved walls. On the smooth surface of the walls the 360-degree surface view was displayed, as if he were standing at the very top of Mount Sinai and could see clearly in all directions.
Aspasia’s Shadow’s eyes shifted to the last Cobra gunship, the closest threat.
A streak of light flashed from the sword pommel to the wall, hitting the image of the Cobra.
A golden sphere was extended on a fifty-foot pole made of b’ja, the Airlia metal straight out of the peak of Mount Sinai. A bolt of lightning streaked out of the golden sphere, through the fog.
The last Cobra was destroyed.
* * *
In the rear of the AC-130 crewmen used snow shovels to clear the expended brass away from the still-firing guns.
Three digital counters clicked down rounds left in each of the three systems. As Macomber watched, the 25mm clicked to zero and the gun ceased firing, multi-barrel smoking. The 40 and 105 kept chunking out rounds, but they too were running low.
* * *
Turcotte tried to control his panic.
“Reboot,” he ordered, his voice contained inside the helmet.
His heart skipped a beat as nothing happened for several seconds, then the screen flickered and came alive with the scroll of data indicating it was rebooting.
* * *
Aspasia’s Shadow had noted the incoming rounds coming from above, but the Cobras had been a more immediate threat. He now shifted his gaze upward at the AC-130.
* * *
On her targeting screen, Macomber saw the glow coming out of the fog and knew they were targeted. There wasn’t time to think. She tapped the
screen with her right forefinger, right on top of the glow. As the lightning streaked up, both the 40mm and 105 mm sent rounds screaming directly in the opposite direction.
Macomber shifted her hand and touched her grandmother’s picture as the screen filled with the approaching lightning.
The Specter exploded.
The last 105mm howitzer round that Macomber had targeted struck home, hitting the golden sphere.
Four thousand feet below, in the bowels of Mount Sinai, Aspasia’s Shadow cried out and staggered back as the walls flickered with streaks of black and red, the outside image gone.
He reached down and touched the pommel of the sword, willing the ancient technology to work, but the kaleidoscope on the walls continued unabated. Cursing, he pulled the sword out of the crystal and left the room.
On top of the mountain, the strange fog began blowing away with the desert breeze.
* * *
The data stopped and the screen showed only darkness. “Forward view, night vision,” Turcotte ordered.
He could see the top hatch over Yakov’s shoulder. The Russian was struggling to open it.
Turcotte got to his feet. Sherev was waiting at the base of the ladder. The pilot and co-pilot were unconscious in their crash seats in the center of the bouncer. The skin of the craft was solid, all power dead.
“Stand clear,” Turcotte told Yakov.
The Russian turned in surprise, searching in the darkness. “I thought you were dead. I cannot get the hatch to budge.”
Turcotte climbed up, hooked his weapon arm on the top rung, and with the other applied pressure. The hatch cracked open, letting in sunlight, then fell open with a clang. He climbed out, then reached down and helped the other two out.
The side of Mount Sinai was towering over them, topped with the strange fog. But even as they watched, the cloud was beginning to dissipate.
* * *
The first Blackhawk touched down. A dozen Israeli commandos leaped out. Satchel charges in hand, they dashed toward the base of the spur where Sherev had told them the door was.
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