by Mark Wandrey
Fully automatic gunfire rang out across the park as they fired at the silently darting commandos. Two of them scored hits before the combined fire of the remaining Israelis brought them down. The guards were all dead, as were two commandos, but the damage was done. The commander was certain the Egyptian’s gunfire had been heard for a mile or more, especially on this quiet night. Company was coming; it was only a matter of time.
“The lid is off,” Weissman said over his headset in Hebrew. “Get them here, and fast!”
With subterfuge no longer a priority, the sub surfaced in the river. Hatches opened, rope ladders were strung to the road above, and people began pouring out. A second group of a dozen commandos split up into two man teams to cover the landing operation and establish a corridor between the sub and the zoological gardens. A four-man Mossad team disappeared into the nearby business district.
The first police presence arrived in only five minutes. A solitary car with lights and sirens wailing arrived in response to a residential call of weapons fire. As it rushed over the bridge across the Nile, a pair of commandos stitched it with machine gun fire from the deck of the sub. The car was torn to flaming pieces that rained into the river below. A moment later charges were detonated, dropping the entire eastern span of the bridge into the river.
“Keep your eyes open!” the submarine captain warned. All one-hundred-twenty of the special passengers were unloaded along with the forty-man support team. The Mossad team returned with a trio of rickety but serviceable flatbed trucks they'd commandeered nearby, and the sling cranes from the submarine began loading them with crates. The Mossad disappeared and weren't heard from again. They would have work to do for weeks to come.
Work went quickly with more than a hundred hands sharing the burden. The sub's deck bustled as the crew all hurried to complete the offloading of supplies. The commandeered trucks were loaded in ten minutes and set out for the short drive with dozens of men hanging from the sides or standing on the back of the heavily laden trucks. As the caravan lumbered away, spotters picked up an approaching helicopter.
“Can’t tell what kind it is,” said the captain as he observed it through binoculars, “and we can’t take the chance.” He clicked the mike on his headset and issued orders. A crewman appeared in a hatch with a shoulder-fired missile launcher. There was a bang and a roar as the missile shot up and away. It instantly lanced toward its target. The approaching helicopter bloomed into a ball of fire, never knowing what hit it. A second later the explosion reached the sub. “Tell them to hurry; we’re going to be drawing fire any minute now.”
By the time the trucks rolled through the gates into the zoological gardens, more than a dozen police cars had gathered on the opposite side of the Nile. Some police began firing wildly at the dimly lit but still visible sub. The captain ignored the random winging of bullets off the metal hull of his boat and listened to Weissman report. They were safely at their objective. “God speed, Commander,” he told Weissman, then switched to ship’s channel. “Prepare to get under way,” he ordered. A minute later his vessel began to submerge. The police figured they'd won a battle and began cheering as the sub reversed and slipped below the water.
The first patrol boat arrived. A converted Bayliner cabin cruiser circled where the sub had disappeared, firing 20mm cannons randomly into the water and tossing hand grenades over the sides. The sub was well underway and took no notice of the wild and desperate attacks. Meanwhile the gates to the gardens were once again sealed. The trucks were being unloaded outside the big metal building. Inside, the head of the operation was staring at their objective.
The Cairo Portal was just like the pictures of the American Portal. The mission commander, Isaac Radasky, consulted the glowing lights and smiled. The Egyptians had only sent through nine people thus far. He could send all one hundred-twenty of his team plus fifteen of the commandos. He passed that news along to Weissman and trusted him to make the appropriate choices.
“All right, everyone!” he yelled to get their attention. “We’re ready to commence operations as soon as the crates are staged. Let’s get them in order as quickly as possible and prepare to start people going through this thing.” The team had drilled with a mockup of the Portal in a warehouse outside Tel-Aviv for several days. Everyone knew what to do. It took a few minutes longer than planned to get everything lined up, and eventually they were ready to go. As was planned, they were relying on the distraction the submarine provided to buy them the time they needed.
The first person stepped boldly to the top of the dais and went through to the other world. The entire device flashed brilliant purple and a place on the other side came into clear focus. It was not too dissimilar to the territory around Cairo, and the sun was shining brightly. Instantly the support crew began throwing through crates.
The man on the other side worked quickly to move crates out of the way until the last one was through and the Portal closed. “Quickly now, number two!” urged Radasky. Another man stepped through and the work progressed. Now that there were two on the other side it was much easier to move the crates. When the third man moved through, the Portal was still open, and then things began to move much quicker. Radasky stayed back by the door, mindful of the American’s notes about radiation. Only the support team would remain inside. Their exposure wouldn’t matter. In a few days everyone left on Earth would be dead anyway.
Once a sizable number were in the new world, the man in charge there held up a handwritten message on a piece of paper saying there was no sign of resistance. “I wonder what happened to the people they already sent over there?” asked the nearest commando.
“That’s a good question,” replied Radasky. The commando lifted a hand to his ear and listened.
“A military transport just showed up on this side of the bridge,” he said and continued to listen. “We’ll try to avoid notice.” A second later gunfire could be heard from the direction of the main gate. “So much for that theory. You folks better hurry; I need to find Captain Weissman.” Radasky slapped him on the back and tried to speed up his team.
Moving more than a hundred people through a doorway in only a few minutes along with a couple hundred kilos of boxes each was no easy feat. To complicate matters, many of those going over were in no condition to help in any way. More than half their numbers were pregnant women, and a few were very pregnant. An effort had been made to pick women no more than three months pregnant, but there simply hadn’t been time to find those with the needed skills and in the proper term of pregnancy. The mission leader hurried these people through once there were enough men on the other side to ensure their safety and then set about getting the rest going.
Finally, “Captain Weissman, your volunteers please!” Radasky called over the radio once the civilians were all through. Gunfire was becoming louder and closer as seconds ticked by until, finally, fifteen commandos arrived. Each was so heavily laden down with weapons and gear that they could hardly move. Five more followed them through, likewise burdened.
“We didn’t have time to weigh out the gear so we’re doing it on the fly,” announced the first commando.”
“What about Weissman?”
“He’s dead, sir.” The leader nodded and gestured for them to go through. Heavy backpacks, guns, ammo cans and other things were thrown through after each man. Once or twice a gun or box bounced off telling them they had exceeded the limit. Too often the Portal would close before they were done. Finally there were only five commandos left and Radasky.
“You guys threw all your guns and gear through, what are you going to fight with?” They displayed guns and equipment taken from the guards when they had first arrived. Radasky laughed and shook his head. “You know how to improvise, that’s for sure!”
“Besides,” one of them said, “our job is done.” Outside the fighting was becoming frantic. People who were aware of the importance of this site had arrived and were directing the battle now. The sounds of helicopters and heavy weapons
fire could be heard along with the firing of anti-aircraft missiles and explosives. “Shalom,” the commando said.
“Shalom,” Radasky said and stepped through the Portal. The men tossed through as much as they could lay hands on before the Portal closed. The glowing Portal flashed out and the pearly white dais dimmed until it was as black as night. All one hundred forty-four lights had lit for a moment, and then dimmed to darkness.
“Come,” said one commando to the others. “Let us join captain Weissman. Our tribe shall live on!” They all smiled grimly and ran outside to join the fight.
Battle raged well into the night. The Egyptian military failed to capture a single person. The fight cost the lives of two hundred Egyptian military and police officers. Inside the cracked dome they found only a few empty packing crates and the black Portal.
The
next morning a grim-faced Premier made his announcement to the Israeli Senate, flanked by the military ranking General and head of the Mossad. There were cheers of glee from many and wails of horror from others. Five hours later, just before dawn, the first Egyptian tanks rolled across the Jordan heights and into Israel.
April 25
Much to Volant's surprise he opened his eyes. Some small part of his mind noted in amazement that there was no smell of brimstone. He looked around at his surroundings, obviously a hospital room. He could see an IV stand next to his bed and other devices nearby full of moving lines and beeping displays. There was only the one bed in the room so they must have known who he was.
He was only awake for a moment before a nurse quickly arrived. “Well, Mr. Volant, I see you’re awake. How do you feel this afternoon?”
“Drugged,” he answered numbly. He could tell from his training that it was either a synthetic morphine or something similar.
“We got a lot of cases in yesterday; many who died didn't look as bad as you.”
“Thanks, I think,” he mumbled though rubbery lips.
“You’re a tough man. Are you in any pain?” The nurse came close, a petite blond with inquisitive eyes and a badge that said “Ms. Greesy”
“A little abdominal discomfort," he said. But when she moved toward the IV stand he held up a bandaged hand. "It's nothing I can't deal with. I need to get in touch with my second in command and find out what’s happening.”
“Plenty of time for that later, once your body has had more time to heal and you are more rested.”
“I can rest when I'm dead; get me a phone.”
“I can’t do that. It's up to the physician in charge to allow that.”
“Get the senior sawbones in here right fucking now.” The nurse just stood there staring at him so he barked at her, “Let's get moving, toots!” She harrumphed but she also scooted out as he'd ordered. He noticed her tight ass moving under the uniform and decided he would live.
His men must have been waiting just down the hall because Steve Bradley, one of his detail-oriented agents (not a hands-on type), was let in less than a minute later. “Wow, boss, you look like shit,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Thanks, boy. I’ll remember that when Christmas rolls around.”
“Keep it to ten minutes, he needs his rest,” Nurse Greesy ordered.
“Take off dear, national security matters!”
“What an ass!” she snorted and stomped out. Both men laughed for a moment, which Volant instantly regretted. His stomach felt like someone was trying to pull his intestines out with a fork. He decided to avoid moving for the time being.
“How much do you remember, boss?”
“We were attacked at Checkpoint Alpha. First a cab rushed the guards, then a bus. I arrived just after they stopped the bus, and just before it exploded. Brought down the driver myself.”
“Did that bomb put you out?”
“Down but not out. It gave me this,” he said and pulled down the sheets. A bloody bandage covered his portly abdomen. “I got back to my feet as they started their first rush. Fought that first group to a standstill.”
“They probably weren’t expecting anyone to put up a coherent resistance that quickly.”
“I agree. Anyway, I capped about a dozen of them before everything exploded.”
“You were taken out of the game pretty early then. The explosion that knocked you out was probably the main hydrogen fuel cell. Nothing else fits, and we found you about a hundred yards from the crater.”
“Shit, a hundred yards away? I’m lucky to still be drawing air.”
“That you are. The crater was ten feet deep. After that blast the defenses faltered. A couple dozen NYPD officers waded into the fight and held them back for an hour or so, but it wasn’t enough.”
“Are you saying we lost?”
“They took the central buildings and captured most of the scientists. There were at least two hundred of them. They lost more than a hundred. We lost about a third of that. Most of the military contingent was wiped out, and about fifteen NYPD officers died. Three times that many wounded. There’s been a cease-fire for about twelve hours now while the rest of the dead and injured in the park are removed. A pair of Army corpsman was allowed into the compound to treat wounded. Two injured scientists were promised to be released.”
“Did they release them as promised?”
“Yes sir, they did.”
“Were either of them Dr. Osgood?”
“No, he’s missing and believed to be among the hostages.”
“Have they made any demands?”
“No.”
“Who are they?”
“You’re not going to like this.”
“What is there to like about today?” The pain killers were fading, clearing his mind at the same time it made him aware of just how chewed up he was. “Give it to me, kid.”
“The Followers of the Avatar.”
“Fuck!” Volant groaned at the pain from his stomach. “I need to get out of here, what’s my condition?”
“According to the doctor you lost a few feet of small intestine, broke both legs, and have been shot five times, all of them superficial in nature.”
“So there’s no reason I can’t leave.”
“Except for the fact that you can’t walk and have tubes coming from your gut, sure. From what I hear, you won’t be able to be moved any distance for about a week.” The younger man stepped over and pulled back the sheets revealing Volant’s legs. One was in a simple cast from the knee down. The other was covered in a complex metal framework with steel pins protruding through the skin. The leg was stitched together in several places, the skin bloated and swollen, making it look like something from a Frankenstein movie.
“That explains the pain killers. Guess they had to put the pieces back together. So I need to get in touch with Edgars and run through him.”
“He was shot twice in the head, sir. He’s actually still alive in a coma, though not expected to survive the night.”
“What about Kopetsky?”
“We haven’t found him. Last report he was near the hydrogen power cell when it went off, probably going in to back you up.”
“Okay, then Danvers. He’s young, but a good field agent.”
“Lost an arm to gunfire at the end. He was one of the injured the corpsman brought out. He should recover.”
“Well, son, looks like you're my top dog.”
“Me, sir? I’m just a bookworm. I’ve failed field agent training twice. If I’d been out there with you, I’d have a toe tag and be room temperature.
“That may be. However as of this moment, you’re acting deputy sector chief. Don’t you faint on me, son. Buck up. I’ll be in touch with you as much as possible. Remember, sat phones work both ways. I want you to get your ass down there and take charge. The last thing we need is the damn NYPD coming in and trying to Rambo the situation. These people are motivated fanatics; the number of lives they were willing to spend proves that.” Volant paused and tried to catch his breath. He’d needed to stop talking because the room had begun
to spin. “Look, I know you can handle this. I’m not asking you to take over my job, just act as my pit bull for a few days. You wouldn’t be on my team if I didn’t think you had potential.”
“Thanks, sir, I hope I do a good job.”
“You will, or I’ll fire you. Now, get on the horn and call Brice in D.C. Tell him to expedite the containment call I asked for. Also, grab the file I had you print out on these Avatar clowns. Link up with the FBI HRT and take down their HQ, ASAP.”
“Sure, no problem. I can handle that. Anything else?”
“Yes, get me a Coke? My throat feels like it’s made of sand paper.”
Handcuffed in the back seat of a police car was not where Mindy had intended to land her first day in New York City. She spent the afternoon circling the park along with about a million other people hoping foolishly to get a glimpse of the carnage. As the afternoon wore on she prepared to give up and return to her hotel. A helicopter came swooping down into the park and landed a short distance from five concrete domes she'd noticed earlier. As the helicopter landed, the police line around the park tightened.
When the chopper doors slid open to discharge a group of suited people, Mindy stared in surprise. Leo Skinner was one of them. Anyone who knew him would recognize his bald head and round belly, even from a distance and through a crowd.
Mindy jumped up and yelled, but she was bowled over as soon as she had spoken her first word. As if the helicopter doors opening had been the cue they were waiting for, the crowd roared and surged forward and through the shocked line of NYPD officers.
Mindy wanted to cry out in rage at losing the chance to get Leo’s attention, but she was too busy trying to avoid being trampled. The first gunshots echoed through the park just as she regained her feet. A few feet away a man was using a trashcan to beat a police officer to bloody pulp while a woman beautiful enough to be a model was yanking the gun from the dying man’s hand.