by Kevin Tinto
Karen’s instant response was: “Is Wheeler behind this? I can’t believe he’d have the brass to try a stunt like this—he’d have to kill Al to get away with it.”
“I’m not a hundred-percent sure. I don’t believe in coincidence and I’ve just run into a few. My government sat phones were mysteriously shut off, and Wheeler clearly sent a team of Special Operators into Turkey on the same mission as mine. American soldiers had already been there, and you can quote this to Al: ‘explored it from top to bottom’. They were long gone when I reached the objective. Still, things can happen on a mountain climb, as you know. I’m not sure of anything at this point—except I’m headed for Iran. I’m safe with the Kurds, just over the border—for now. But I need Al to find out what the hell’s going on.
“Should I use this number to get back to you?”
“No. The Kurds rotate the satellite phones. I’ll call you back in six hours.”
Chapter 46
It had taken Leah another twenty-four hours before she could walk around the Settlement without sitting down every five minutes to take a breather. She still felt unreasonably hungry and thirsty, which, along with her weakness, meant she probably should have been hospitalized. Given the situation, she settled for river water, beans, and corn.
Over-shadowing everything were K’aalógii’s words. That Leah would lead her people “to a place that has one plus one suns.” Exactly what she’d seen in her version of the vision quest.
Garrett was nonplussed but tended toward skeptical. He said it could easily be suggestion. Leah gets high as a kite on an unknown hallucinogenic tea. All the while, Appanoose spins this tale, repeating it over and over again, until it’s running through her mind like an IMAX movie premiere.
It didn’t ring true for Leah. There was so much more. The intense cold, feeling unable to breath, the second Antarctic complex, and all of the penetrating detail. She didn’t tell him about the city-block sized blocks of ice, the masses of steam, or the fracturing of the ice for as far as her mind’s eye could see. If she had, he might have suggested she not only needed a break from the Settlement, but also a strait-jacket wearing holiday at the Gerald Champion Regional Medical Center in Alamogordo on a ‘5150’ hold.
Leah had come to other private conclusions as well. If Appanoose were human, he differed greatly from the rest of the Ancients. First, he had this overwhelming and uncanny ability to serve as a leader for people from many different tribes. He could talk their talk, serving as the keeper of traditional culture, yet he clearly understood their predicament in the larger world. Having survived his sweat-lodge ritual, Leah now felt strangely certain that the man could transmit, perhaps by touch, information that had been imprinted into his DNA. She held that back from Garrett as well.
Had Appanoose been bio-engineered by the non-terrestrials to do exactly what he did? Keep the traditional culture alive, but prepare the Ancients for their next role as planetary colonists, using a sweat lodge ritual to imprint this information on a need to-know-basis? It dovetailed smoothly with the Ancients’ expectations of what a shaman did.
Now that she had most of her strength back, it was time to face off with Appanoose at his Basilica. Her intention: get the satellite phone back and make it clear that if Garrett or she were ever threatened again, the shaman’s desire to get back to Antarctica would be ‘Put on Ice’ forever. He’d never see the outside of a walled compound ever again, much less Antarctica.
And she meant it.
Already after eight in the evening. Leah walked toward the Basilica, where a fire burned bright enough to light up most of the Settlement while Appanoose spoke to a small knot of his followers.
He glanced at her when she got within fifteen meters of the fire. She signaled him with a universally recognizable gesture: hands up in the air with a shrug. ‘Let’s move this along—you’re killing me, here.”
Chapter 47
Appanoose continued his sermon for thirty more minutes after Leah had given him the ‘hurry up’ signal. With a sharp nod, the Ancients stood, stretched their legs, a couple even smiling and greeting Leah, then patted Garrett on the shoulder, sharing a quiet word with him.
Since her experience with Appanoose in the lodge, both Garret and she had been treated much more like part of the Ancient family, not outsiders. Garrett said the difference in treatment had begun immediately after she exited the sweat lodge. “Aside from the knife point at my neck.” Given that this was her first real day of being up and around, the sea-change was still a novel experience.
Appanoose gave one sharp nod; Leah stepped forward as if she’d been urged on with a freshly-charged cattle prod. Easy, now, she thought, reminding herself not to instantly respond to his orders. Charlie ‘Appanoose’ Mason was all his nickname suggested, and more.
Garrett joined her and they sat across from the shaman, precisely where the Ancients’ butts had been warming the skins on the logs not two minutes before. She badly wanted to start the conversation, asking questions about the lodge ritual. The longer she’d been awake, the more she felt the experience had been real—not some hypnotic suggestion.
You’re doing it again, she warned herself. Do not knuckle under to the shaman.
With a snap nod, Appanoose signaled that he was ready to begin. Leah spoke first, using a pretty strong line of semi-fluent Navajo, surprising even herself. “I want the satellite phone back,” she said, using English for “satellite phone.”
To her shock, Appanoose gave her a single snap nod, then pointed to one of the warriors standing nearby. He spoke curtly to the warrior, who spun and sprinted for the mesa overhang. He returned less than thirty seconds later with the satellite phone in his hand. Appanoose nodded in Leah’s direction, and the warrior handed her the phone without a word.
Garrett said, “I wish it had been that easy for me. Guess he didn’t want any interference while you were still unconscious.”
Leah shrugged. “If he thinks I believe everything I saw, then there’d be no reason for me to use the satellite phone, except to do his bidding.”
“He miscalculated there,” Garrett said. “That’s a first.…”
She said, “Maybe,” while maintaining her stoic expression.
Appanoose reached out for the satellite phone, and Leah handed it over without comment, already breaking her rule not to jump at his every command.
Although he spoke in Navajo, Leah now understood every word he uttered. One side-effect of her lodge ritual was an unexplainable improvement in her language skills. While she might have to pick words out of a phrase before, the words were now as clear as if they’d been spoken in English.
Appanoose held up the sat phone. “Chidí naat’a’í!”
“Did you hear that, Garrett? He told me to call and get an aircraft.”
Instead of expressing shock, Garrett simply and quietly asked Appanoose, matter-of-factly, in Navajo, “Where do you want to go?”
“Shádi’ááhjí Honeezk’azii.” Appanoose pointed toward the south and repeated in English. “Ant-Arc-Tikke.”
“Chidí naat’a’í?” Leah asked, the frustration evident in her tone.
“Naaki éé’neishoodii bikin,” Appanoose replied.
“Oh, shit,” she said, shoulders slumping. The shock of his reply had knocked the wind right out of her, emotionally.
“Connected domes…. I guess those could be translated as ‘churches,’” Garret said. “Sounds like what you saw during the ritual.”
“Right,” Leah said without further comment.
“You want to tell me what you really think?” asked Garrett.
“My gut says that Appanoose isn’t like the rest of the Ancients. I’ve even wondered if he’s really even human. If he is human, then he’s different. Was his DNA altered—beyond what we’ve already seen? Was he imprinted with information designed to be parceled out to the Ancients, as necessary
for survival?”
Seeing Garrett’s eyes go flat, she pleaded her case. “It fits the Native American culture. The shaman is the religious leader. He’s expected to know everything—even be connected with the supernatural. If the Ancients are colonists, then maybe it’s a way to acclimate them to their destiny, provide the skills necessary for survival, without, as Marko says in his Star Trek vernacular: ‘ripping the Prime Directive a new asshole.’ ”
Garrett said, “Perhaps avoiding as much non-terrestrial contamination as possible. The Ancients go to the shaman for guidance, spiritual and otherwise—he has all the answers.”
“Exactly,” Leah said. “He educates through his sermons at the Basilica or, when he needs more of a supernatural approach, he uses the lodge. I can tell you firsthand, when you’ve been through that experience, you have no doubt he’s a deity.”
Garrett sat quiet for a moment. “Well, I suppose that leads to the next question for ’Noose.”
“What’s that?”
“You said it. Let’s ask him if he’s human.”
She turned toward Appanoose and blurted it straight out in Navajo. “Asdzáníísh bíla’ashdla’ii?” Simply translated: “Are you a human?”
Instead of a reaction, Appanoose simply sat motionless, his stoic expression unchanging while Leah waited on pins and needles for his reply. He turned and looked out toward the forest, then back to Leah and Garrett. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, suddenly stood. He wasn’t the only one who had turned their attention to the east. The entire Settlement had gotten up from the fires and were talking among themselves, walking and pointing toward the east.
Appanoose said, “Chidí naat’a’í. Ahonii’yóí Chidí naat’a’í.”
Leah stood; Garrett had done the same. “Aircraft—many aircraft,” she translated. “That can only mean on thing. Gordo ratted us out. We’ve got military helicopters inbound.”
Chapter 48
Grigoriy called the platoon to a halt. He lifted his binoculars while his best sniper Alexi swept the horizon using the scope on his Arctic Warfare Magnum.
“Ochistit,” Alexi said.
Grigoriy continued scanning without comment. Up until now, the Taiga tracks had continued in a straight line, following the magnetic azimuth toward the magnetic South Pole—the exact compass bearing that intersected the Trans-Antarctic-Highway. But their bearing had changed slightly.
Grigoriy consulted his map. If the Americans wanted to shorten the distance by a few kilometers to Amundsen-Scott, it might explain why they’d suddenly turned a few degrees to the magnetic northwest. Although their shift was slight, it was enough to set off alarms. From what Grigoriy could tell, a pressure ridge of ice cut across the direction they’d chosen, while they easily could have continued straight on the azimuth without such an obstacle.
Suspicious.
“Contact?” Vasily asked, raising another pair of Swarovskis to his face.
“No contact,” Grigory responded. “The Americans have altered their heading.” He pulled his handheld compass out of his parka. He held it out straight ahead and allowed it to settle until he had an accurate reading. It confirmed his visual observation. The Americans had turned, slightly.
What could explain it? Contact with an aircraft, or a correction to reach coordinates for a rendezvous? Could it simply be poor navigation? A heading change due to sloppiness?
Grigoriy slung the Swarovski binoculars around his neck.
“Vasily. Send one man forward one-thousand meters.”
***
In addition to the SEALs’ own MP5s and several hundred rounds of ammunition, the Russians had graciously supplied Beckam with two Kalashnikov AK-12 assault rifles and a KBP A-91 Bullpup assault rifle. Beckam and Liam Clay sorted the weapons and set them up on a line rack they’d built down inside the crevasse. They’d anchored the aluminum bridge pieces’ side by side, upside down a meter and half below the edge of the crevasse. Once anchored, the bridge had provided a solid fighting position.
“Feel like you’re in France, let’s say, 1918?” Beckam asked.
Liam Clay chuckled. “Who said World War I trench warfare ever went out of style? We’re snug as a bug in a lethal-ass rug.”
Beckam and Liam crouched so that just the white helmets and Beckam’s binoculars stood above the crevasse rim. They’d been careful to anchor themselves to the surrounding ice. When the shit hit the fan, Beckam didn’t want either one of them tumbling off the bridge and getting wedged in the bottom of the crevasse.
Still on Beckam’s wish list were the remote-detonated claymores. Enemy facing anti-personnel mines that shot out thousands of metal shards in a fan shape, killing or injuring everything within the blast fan.
Except they didn’t have any….
Chapter 49
Jack rested a pair of Hawar’s worn binoculars against the rock to steady the view and did his best to focus on the airfield. It was located in a relatively barren and desolate section of Iran, about twenty kilometers across the border from Turkey.
Built during the Iran-Iraq War, along with scores more in the desert, it had little of itself remaining, from what Jack saw. A rusted water tower and a twisted clump of steel that might have been the base for a control tower, possibly the target of an Iraq bomber. The fact that there was damage to the control tower was disheartening. It probably meant that the runway had been bombed as well, rendering it unusable—then and today.
Jack lowered the binoculars. “I can’t see if the runway’s intact. I’ll have to sneak over there and check it out. Make sure aircraft can land.”
Hawar shook his head, looking like a disapproving school principal after you’ve been caught shooting spitwads across the room during band practice. “Where did you learn to take such risks? Certainly not from me.”
He turned and motioned Kajir over and spoke with him in Kurd, pointing at the airfield, explaining what Jack had said. Kajir responded, then shouldered an AK-47, motioned at Camir, who did the same. Hawar handed them a handheld Garmin GPS unit that featured topography maps, not roads and cities. He switched it on, checked that it had signal, then gave it to Kajir, who stuffed it inside a gear bag he carried with extra AK magazines.
Jack handed the binoculars to Hawar, and the Kurd expertly surveyed the region. He pulled the binoculars down and waved his sons forward with a sweep of his hand. The brothers jogged toward the airfield, weapons over their shoulders, while Hawar minded them with the binoculars.
Hawar’s sons would get a GPS waypoint from the center of the runway—critically necessary for navigating into the abandoned airfield.
He glanced at his watch; he was already an hour past the time he told Karen he’d call back, but they couldn’t risk more than minimal communication. He needed to have all the necessary information before calling her, at least if he had any hope of suggesting a viable way for him to get out of the Middle East—alive.
“If the runway is good,” Hawar said, smiling, “God willing, you soon will be on the way home to your wife.”
***
It had only taken Hawar’s sons a matter of minutes to cover the ground between the rock outcropping and the airfield, where they disappeared beyond the wreckage of the control tower.
They’d been gone for more than an hour and Jack was concerned. He wanted them to do a thorough check of the runway, but more than sixty minutes seemed excessive. Hawar on the other hand, seemed at ease. He continued scanning the airfield and vicinity. Dust rooster tails plumed in the distance, kicked up by cars and trucks running on a dirt highway perhaps six kilometers away—a constant reminder they were far from out of danger.
“See, Mr. Jack,” said Hawar, his voice rich with pride. “They are fine—and they will have your information.”
Kajir and Camir sprinted back across the open desert toward the rocks.
“I never doubted for sec
ond,” Jack said, releasing a long-held inner breath for the boys.
The young men jumped over the rocks and back under the cover of the outcropping. Neither seemed winded by the sprint from the airfield, Jack noted with envy.
They spoke with their father in rapid-fire Kurdish. Hawar nodded then pointed a finger back at the airfield, sweeping from left to right, and asked several more questions. Kajir pointed to the left and answered with a lengthy explanation.
“Kajir says the runway is lengthy. At least three kilometers. The….” Hawar searched for the words, but instead made a horizontal motion with his hand in the meantime. “The black surface of the runway, it is in good condition. However, there are two difficulties.” He turned back to Kajir and seemed to be confirming in his own mind what his son had observed before explaining it to Jack.
“The runway has a bomb crater—perhaps one kilometer from the end. Also, an armed vehicle was blown up near the center of the runway. Kajir and Camir, they were able to clear much of the metal—but there are several pieces, including two wheels, they could not move on their own.
“If there were three of us, could we move the wheels and debris?”
Hawar hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, with a strong man like yourself, Mr. Jack, it can be done.”
Chapter 50
After taking off from Luke’s airfield, Paulson flew northwest until he was over-flying the city of Grants, New Mexico. He decreased power and altitude, spiraling down to ten-thousand feet. He programmed the auto-pilot to fly the T-38 in a lazy circle following a perimeter around the city, holding at ten-thousand. He dug around in a gear bag and pulled out one of his ‘burner’ cell phones that he carried for just such an emergency. As he expected, at ten-thousand he had five bars of service on the phone. By circling the city at the same altitude, he’d hold signal with the same towers, preventing the calls from dropping.