by David Cline
“I bet they already removed most of the stuff from--” Wilkin’s voice stopped short.
Wood glanced his direction and shivers ran down his spine. Wilkins was standing completely still, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. His neck was cocked to one side like a dog. Their hands flew to their foreheads at the exact same time and they killed their lights. Pitch blackness enveloped them.
Wood held his hand in front of his face but saw nothing. He closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly how everything in the cavern was situated. He heard Wilkins shuffle back toward the ladder. He followed slowly until he heard faint whispers. Goosebumps covered his arms. The thought of being watched while seeing nothing terrified him.
He debated turning on the red light, but his outstretched arms found Wilkins. Without making a sound, Wilkins grabbed Wood’s hand and lightly made the gesture in sign language for stop. He held his breath. The blackness began to warp Wood’s sense of balance. Very slowly, he crouched down on all fours to steady himself.
How much time passed like that, Wood would never know. It felt like forever. Complete and utter silence was his sole companion as he knelt in the belly of the ancient vessel. He knew that someone was doing the same close by. The whispers had stopped. Everyone was waiting for the other to make the first move.
A muffled click echoed from somewhere below him. Wood sensed a sudden rush of movement. He covered his head with his arms. There was a crunch like the sound of a cracking whip. A foreign voice screamed out in pain.
“Cover your ears and close your eyes,” Wilkins shrieked.
Wood clamped his hands over his ears. A blinding flash of light sent him reeling. He groaned in pain as bright orange needles struck out at his brain.
Wood felt large arms pull him to his feet. “Did you close your eyes?” Wilkins yelled. “We need to get out of here!”
Wood could not remember if he had closed his eyes or not. His vision swam in an ether of shapes and colors. He blinked a few times and saw Wilkins looking at him.
“You good?” he asked.
Wood reached out and steadied himself on Wilkin’s shoulder. “Just give me a second.”
Wilkins looked down the shaft behind him and then back at Wood. “I don’t know how many seconds we have Nick. How about now?” Wilkins reached up and turned Wood’s headlamp on for him.
Wood nodded. His vision began to clear. “After you hombre.”
Wilkins examined Wood for another second, and then turned and hurried down the ladder.
Wood rubbed goop out of his eyes. His tears had mixed with dust. He patted himself down to ensure everything still worked, then followed Wilkins. He grabbed the first wrung in a death grip and swung his feet over the edge. His balance was still a little off. He paused and looked down just as Wilkins punched something below him.
Wood’s feet found the bottom. Three unconscious bodies were piled together in a heap. Wilkins was busy going through their pockets. Wood shook his head and concentrated. He reached down and grabbed two handguns and a rifle Wilkins had already laid aside. He checked the magazines. They were all full. He then checked the chamber and pulled the slide back.
“It’s good to have you back,” Wilkins said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a star collapsed into a supernova inside my head.”
Wilkins used his arm to wipe sweat off his forehead. “I don’t know what in the hell they had, but it was powerful.”
“When we make it a safe distance, I would love to hear all about it.” He tossed Wilkins the rifle.
“Sounds like a plan.”
Wood crouched and hobbled through the tunnel. He gritted his teeth as his ankle protested the continual beating. They made it to the ladder and hurried to the top. Wilkins heaved his shoulder against the doors, and they banged open with a crash.
Wood emerged into the fresh night air and smiled. The cobwebs inside his mind cleared. He felt sharp and alert. He looked out into the night and saw two pairs of headlights bouncing toward them a few hundred yards down the mountainside.
They sprinted to the ark wall and looked for a way through. Wood dove over the top just as the vehicles slid to a halt alongside the tunnel entrance. Eight doors opened all at once and boots hit the ground running. One by one, they all disappeared through the heavy metal doors.
“They make it too easy,” Wood whispered. “You feel like wandering through the wilderness for 40 years? I know I don’t.”
When the last head had disappeared, Wood jumped over the wall and slid to the bottom. He heard Wilkins land softly behind him. They sprinted toward the tunnel entrance. Wood dove for the heavy chain. Wilkins pulled a canister the size of a thermos out of a pocket and pulled the pin. He held it for a moment over the void, and then dropped it. They each grabbed a door and slammed it shut. Wood thread the chain through the handles and fastened them together with the padlock.
“What and where did you get that?” Wood asked.
Wilkins gestured behind him. “Borrowed it from our three buddies who surprised us down there. I think it’s some sort of flash bang grenade.” He cracked his jaw. “A powerful model. My ears are still ringing.”
They stood and walked toward the still running vehicles. The headlight beams cut through the dust like lasers. A loud bang reverberated behind them and the chain rattled against the doors.
“Bastards,” Wilkins muttered. He wiped his hands on his pants and walked toward the nearest vehicle. He pulled the lever on the driver’s side and popped the hood. He positioned the strut, so it remained open and then fired 10 shots into the engine block with the rifle. A loud hiss emitted and then the motor began to putter. After a few moments, the headlights dimmed, and the engine died. To be thorough or perhaps out of frustration, he pulled a knife out and sunk it into the front tire.
Together, they climbed into the other vehicle and turned back toward the village. They stopped by the old visitor center and grabbed as much intel as they could, before making one last stop at Hassan’s home. Hassan answered before they could knock. His eyes were baggy and bloodshot. They gave a 30 second account of what had happened and then left him with the necklace they had found and one of the handguns just in case their Nazi occupiers decided to seek retribution amongst the villagers.
They were halfway down the mountain when Wilkins lurched in his seat. “Pull over!”
Wood slammed the brakes and Wilkins jumped out while turning his headlamp on. Wood watch him make a slow circle around the vehicle. A minute later he held up a GPS tracker the size of a domino that had been attached to the frame underneath the passenger side door. When they reached the highway, he tossed it into the bed of a large pickup truck heading the opposite direction. Wood pressed the pedal flat against the mat, and they sped back toward the Armenian border.
In the passenger seat, Wilkins spread out papers all around him like a college student in a library.
“This is interesting,” he said. “It appears as though the ark isn’t the only biblical story they have on their middle eastern tour.” He held out a map with dark circles marking specific locations. In the white spaces, illegible scribbles were written.
“What do those say?” Wood asked. He pointed, and then jerked the wheel. An old tractor puttered in front of them. He barely swerved around it in time. Papers flew everywhere.
“Will you take it easy,” Wilkins shouted. He bent down and began to organize again. “I have no clue what those scrawls say. I don’t even know what language it is.” He flattened the map out over the dashboard. “Look at these locations. We are leaving the ark site circled here.” It looks like their next research site is just east of Egypt.”
“Moses and the Red Sea,” Wood said, without averting his eyes from the road. The tractor had spooked him. A farmer trying to get an early start to his day. “You think they are still after the ark of the covenant?”
Wilkins squinted down at the map and then sorted through some documents on his lap. “I honestly think they are more intere
sted in the science behind the Old Testament stories. If they can prove they happened, they can attempt to harness the same power that caused them.”
“They can’t expect to perform miracles,” Wood said.
Wilkins looked over at him with a philosophical grin. “You said yourself that God wasn’t a magician waving a wand. That he is bound by the natural laws of the universe. It would stand to reason that those same laws could be used by others. If they were to be discovered.”
Wood nodded slowly. “Maybe.”
Something caught his eye in the rearview mirror, and he accelerated slightly. It turned out to be a road sign reflecting the first light of dawn behind them. The sooner they crossed the border the better.
“What do you think it’s all for?” Wood asked. He switched into his snobby intellectual voice. “To advance society and improve our understanding of the natural laws that govern our universe?”
Wilkins shook his head. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”
“Succeed where their forefathers failed,” Wood said. “To bring about a Fourth Reich. A paradise on earth for those of pure Aryan descent. A society comparable to Babylon or Rome in grandeur and world dominance. Where only true culture can blossom and thrive.”
“Sounds like Hell,” Wilkins said.
“Agreed. Where we headed next?”
Wilkins deliberated over the map and then tapped it with a finger. “Let’s retrace the exodus of the children of Israel. I’ve always wanted to visit Cairo.”
Chapter 11
White clouds of mist descended lazily from the cryogenic boosters, passing the palm trees that rustled in a gentle tropical breeze. The sleek shape of the rocket was pointed skyward. The large braces keeping the launch pad in place, glistened with humid precipitation. The small island normally bustling with human activity was now empty and void of life. Even the animals must have sensed something was about to happen and had disappeared.
Viktor Speer pulled down the heavy protective coverings over the dark plexiglass windows. All the monitors and machines that usually hummed with life, were dark and silent. He closed the metal door and walked down the stairs to the worn dirt pathway that crisscrossed the island between buildings. The day was cooler than normal, but his sleeve was still damp from wiping sweat off his brow. The work his team had painstakingly performed the last two long years had finally come to fruition.
As he walked, he shaded his eyes and looked up at the magnificent piece of technology looming over him like a sleeping dragon. A separate department of their organization on the mainland had worked on its design since his ancestors had been smuggled out of Germany in the 1940’s. He had no doubt it would perform the task it had been designed for.
When he arrived at a panel of lights, he made sure they were all green. The arm that held the rocket upright was aligned. The SRM exhaust trench and EXH ducts were clear. The pylon tower was in position. The exhaust deflector looked good. His eyes checked and double checked everything. With one last glance up at the tower, he turned and headed toward the beach.
The crabs that usually scurried to hide in their holes ahead of him were absent. He searched for the iguana that had been their regular companion, but could not spot him. He wondered if one of the crew had taken him off the island to safety.
A small white boat awaited his arrival at the beach. Its bow rested on the sand. He turned and surveyed the island one last time before he jumped onboard. Despite the mosquitoes and isolation, he had grown fond of the small spit of land in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
A comrade he had never met before gripped the bow and pushed the boat out into the water before jumping inside. He walked to the starboard side and fired up the engines. They did a quick U turn and sped toward their naval command center where they would witness the launch.
The cargo ship that had brought the rocket from the mainland was anchored a mile away from the island. When the small boat pulled up alongside, Speer climbed the ladder to the deck. It was the first time he had ever stepped on board. He had only seen the ship from the island when it had made drop-offs. The red and blue paint had faded slightly. Two large cranes stood stationary as he walked by. He was guided toward the multilevel bridge. On top were several telecommunication aerials. A radar spun atop the mast.
He glanced at his guide. He wore navy blue cargo pants with a matching polo. “Tell me about the ship,” Speer said.
The man continued to look straight forward while he talked. “16.8 beam,” he said. “We have two 15-meter cranes. A length overall of 105 meters. Three holds and three hatches. A depth of 8.8 meters. A draft of 6.9 meters.”
Speer nodded. His team had been tasked with dredging the reef so the vessel could park at the island and drop off supplies. When they had first arrived, the ocean had been only a few feet deep. By drilling, blasting, and excavating, they had dug out a channel to a depth of 10 meters. It had been one of the most difficult jobs they had completed.
The sailor continued. “She just got outfitted with a new engine out of Germany. In good weather, she has a max speed of 30 knots.”
They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the ship through a bright yellow door that slid on a track. Speer followed the sailor down a narrow hallway with a baby blue floor. He stopped in front of a pair of double doors and knocked. After waiting a moment, he opened one and gestured for Speer to enter.
Speer was amazed by the sophistication of his comrades. Large projectors hanging from the ceiling were pointed at the wall across the room. One displayed a live feed of the rocket on the island. Another showed a large array of complicated data and readings that Speer had never seen before. Still another showed a large map of earth with weather conditions and atmospheric information. A large array of computer monitors was positioned in half circles where men and women dressed in lab coats sat.
Speer was greeted by a tall woman and guided to a seat in the back of the room.
“The rest of your group is going to watch the launch from the deck,” she said. “You have earned the right to be inside with us. Is everything on the island ready?” she asked.
Speer nodded. “All systems are green.” She looked down at a clipboard and walked away.
On his right was a large glass window. In the distance, the launch tower shimmered in the sunlight. He could just make out the lighting row placed on top.
A voice over the intercom distracted him and he looked back toward the group of scientists and engineers who had all moved into position.
“Flight directors,” a deep voice said, “I want the go, no go for launch. Retro.”
A woman ahead of him spoke into her headset. “Go flight.”
“Booster.”
“Go flight.”
“Fido.”
“Go flight.”
“Trajectory.”
“Go flight.”
“Telmu.”
“Go flight.”
“Okay comrades,” the voice came from the intercom. “We are in a smooth count. T minus 37. You are a go for auto sequence start. PLT’s perform your APU prestart.”
Everything happened so fast, Speer sat back in awe at the proficiency. Voices yelled in confirmation.
“T minus 10,” the voice said.
Everyone held their breath. Speer gripped the sides of his seat and looked out the tinted glass window. Everything looked the same at that distance. He shifted his gaze to the large screen on the wall.
“We have booster ignition,” the voice said.
A flash of light erupted across the ocean. A few moments later, the sound wave hit them. It was tremendous and terrifying at the same time. Speer could see everything on the pad was functioning as it should. The exhaust deflector directed the enormous energy from the rockets outward toward the ocean. Two thick columns of fire erupted in opposite directions. The service arm detached as the rocket began to ascend.
“The tower is clear,” the voice said.
Everyone in the room cheered and
Speer could not help but tear up at the sight. So many years of scrupulous work had paid off. Everyone watched on the large screen as the rocket entered the upper atmosphere.
The woman who had seated him walked back. “How soon will you be ready for the next launch?”
Chapter 12
Amara stepped off the bus onto the quiet street. There was a loud hiss of hydraulics as the door closed behind her. She stepped onto the brick walkway and looked around. A wide median of green grass separated the far side of the road. Tall trees were evenly spaced every few hundred feet, their canopy offering the evening strollers some shade. The bark on their trunks looked like a checkers board. Between the leaves, she saw small birds flutter from branch to branch. The buildings that lined the road were all connected. Each was distinguished by varying colors and height. She tried to read some of the Spanish words painted on them, but the glare was too bright.
When Wood and Wilkins had left for the Middle East, Danville had suggested Amara travel to Mar del Plata. It had been a dazzling beach town on the Atlantic coast. Her visit, however, was destined for brevity. A few hours after she arrived, Danville had informed her that the most probable landing location for Hitler escaping war-torn Europe was a little town 75 miles south of Mar del Plata called Necochea. She had immediately gotten on a bus and taken the short ride down.
For some reason, she had always imagined Argentina to be full of vast jungles like the Amazon. She thought she would have to brave treacherous wooden bridges across steep rapids or slash her way through the thick vegetation with nothing but a machete. To her surprise, the surrounding countryside was a flat grassland. As she had looked out the window of the bus, she felt like she might as well have been in southern Idaho, or Nebraska. Instead of gorillas or anacondas, large herds of cattle grazed lazily along the highway. Sprinkler systems on horizontal pivots created green crop circles. In a strange way, she had been almost disappointed.
André had flown straight back to France the day after their stay at the resort in Brazil. He claimed that he had had enough. He cited various reasons for leaving. Among them, too many close encounters with death, and pompous Americans.