The Phoenix Egg

by Richard Bamberg

  He had guessed right. The switch was closed and a relay somewhere was sending a signal down the wires and through the switch.

  That was easily handled. John returned the multi-meter to his bag and took out a short piece of wire with an alligator clip at each end. He attached the clips to each of the tiny wires, pressing them in to make sure they penetrated the insulation.

  Moving back into position, he strained against the grating until it slowly moved back and away from him. The pressure brought the fire back to his shoulder. It burned with every inch the grating moved until his eyes involuntarily teared.

  He stopped and held the grating about eighteen inches off the ground. Using his left foot, he maneuvered the rock into position and then slowly released the bars. The heavy grate pressed the rock into the arroyo bed about three inches before coming to a stop.

  It didn’t leave much room, but John didn’t think he had the energy to lift the grating again. It would have to do.

  He rested for a moment, both to keep from sweating and to restore his energy. There was going to be plenty to sap his reserves without letting them get prematurely low. John pushed his bags under the grating then slid under, stopping only once to free the edge of his poncho. John rose slowly on the other side, then picked up the bags again, and took out his meter.

  The field strength was still too high. There must be another detector. It took him nearly a minute to find it mounted on a pole twenty yards farther down the arroyo. Still duck walking, John went another fifty feet before the energy levels were down to the point that he thought he was totally clear of the motion detectors.

  Standing was nearly as painful as the long walk. Muscles protested and tried to cramp. He had to stretch them before continuing.

  Continuing cautiously down the arroyo, he kept a close watch on the meter. There was always the possibility of multiple layers of protection.

  He guessed right.

  Twenty yards later the meter picked up another source. John slowed and looked for the transmitter. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, he gave up and started forward again. The field strength continued to rise.

  He moved the meter, sniffing out the source, until he determined that it was coming from something buried in the sandy floor of the arroyo. It didn’t appear to be part of the alarm system. Perhaps it was a buried power cable for some remote equipment. Moving cautiously, he crossed the cable. The meter made no sudden jumps and after a moment of tense anticipation, he relaxed slightly. He paused to set down his burdens. Unzipping one of his bags, John took out the Uzi. He slung it around his neck, picked up his bags, and went on.

  A minute later he froze, as something moved farther down the arroyo.

  Something dark and low to the ground was moving toward him. It didn’t move like a man.

  He unslung the Uzi, but knew he couldn’t afford to be detected until he reached Caitlin. Dropping his bags to the ground, John drew the long blade of the “Ashley Hunter” from the top of his boot and waited.

  The dark shape drew more distinct and separated into two shapes that redefined their appearance and became Rottweilers as they rushed silently toward him.

  The lead animal left the ground ten feet from John in a leap that took it straight at his throat. John stepped to the side and jammed the stock of the Uzi in its mouth as it passed. He let the dog rip the gun from his hand as he waited for the second dog’s leap.

  The other dog didn’t leap. It came in low and sank its jaws into the flesh of his calf. In a second, it had pulled John off balance and he dropped heavily to the ground.

  He swung the knife hilt at the dog as it dragged him backward through the snow. The heavy hilt made a loud crack as it struck the dog between the eyes. The animal dropped to the ground, but its teeth remained firmly attached to John’s leg.

  The first dog crashed into him before he could turn to meet it. Its massive jaws closed around the back of John’s necked and squeezed down. For once John was glad he wore the thick coat beneath the poncho. The Rottweiler’s teeth couldn’t reach his flesh, yet. John twisted half around, gripped the dog’s collar, and yanked the beast off the ground. In a single heave, John hurled it into the walls of the arroyo.

  John bent hurried and pried the unconscious dog’s teeth from his leg. As he rose, the massive weight of the first dog struck him as it went for his throat again. He raised his left arm just in time and the wide jaws closed on his forearm as the beast bore John to the ground.

  Its jaws tightened, grinding the bones together.

  Rolling, he tugged his right arm out from under him and then slammed the point of his knife into the dog’s ribs. He twisted the blade violently from side to side.

  The pressure on his arm relaxed as the dog made its first sound since the attack started. It yelped once and tried to back away from John. But the strength had gone out of its legs. It sat down, swayed for a moment, and then collapsed across John’s legs. Its dark eyes stared up at him and a pitiful whine came from its throat.

  John met its gaze and a wave of sorrow swept over him.

  What only seconds before had been a menacing killer now lay across him like a family pet. John stroked its face with his gloved hand. “I’m sorry, boy. I know it wasn’t personal. It was just your damn training.”

  But the dog was no longer listening.

  He rolled the body gently off his legs which were now soaked with a mixture of the dog’s and his own blood. Blood seeped from the deep puncture wounds in his calf. John took a sterile bandage from one of his bags and wrapped it tightly about his wounds.

  The second dog was still unconscious. Both dogs wore a receiver/shocker on their collars. That explained the buried wire. It was part of a containment fence for the animals. John cut a few feet from his rope and tied the animal’s feet together. It could chew through them after it woke up, but it would take it some time.

  Retrieving the Uzi and taking up his burden, John limped up the arroyo.

  A couple hundred yards later, he saw the glow of lights ahead. He climbed out of the arroyo, only once sliding back down the snow covered bank, and moved toward the lights. In a minute, he was crouching beneath the snow-covered branches of a juniper. Staring across a small parking lot toward the security shack at the gate to the complex, he could see a single guard inside the shack. The woman appeared to be reading a book.

  John watched the tracker’s screen. Through the snow, he could barely make out the building it was pointing toward. Opening one of his bags, John took out a couple of one-pound packages. One he tossed near the guard station. The snow muffled its fall.

  Well, he was close enough.

  “Caitlin,” he transmitted.

  “John. God, John, am I glad to hear from you.”

  “I’m glad you were able to stay awake. Otherwise, I’d have never found this place.”

  “You’re nearby then?”

  “I’m just inside the gate. Can you give me directions?”

  “Yes. We went past a water tower, and then turned onto the first street to the right. It can’t be more than a hundred yards from the gate. It’s a large building. There was a placard near the entrance that mentioned DARPA. Do you know what that is?”

  John moved out from under the branches and toward the street. “Yes, Defense Advance Research Projects Agency. It’s the agency responsible for all black research programs.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. What would their connection to cyberphones be?”

  John reached the street. There was only one set of recent tracks in the snow. From the tread pattern and the wide placement of the tires, he guessed it came from a Humvee. He paused to set the other package in the gutter next to the curb and to take a couple more from his bags.

  “Someone must have come up with a national security justification. They must think it has espionage capabilities. Maybe they think it’ll read minds.”

  He studied the landscape. There was no sign of movement. He rose and trotted to the intersection ben
eath the yellow glow of a metal halide bulb. The water tower had interesting possibilities.

  “That doesn’t make sense. There was nothing like that in the documentation.”

  He went to the base of the tower and placed one more package there, and then he tossed a couple more in the snow down each of the intersecting streets. Going back to the corner, he hung a right. A large snow covered rock lay next to the curb. John set another package against the cement curb and covered it with the rock.

  He jogged down the sidewalk. “I know, but what else would warrant their funding this research? I can’t see DARPA being involved in modernizing the phone system.”

  John slowed as he neared the building Caitlin had described. It was a large complex with a glass entryway and few other windows.

  “I didn’t tell you what Dewatre said about it?”

  “Oh? What did our friendly Frenchman know?”

  “He claimed it was alien technology.”

  That made John stop. He ducked behind a lodge pole pine and caught his breath. “Was he serious?”

  “I thought he was, but that doesn’t mean he was right.”

  “No, but it does add an interesting set of possibilities and might even explain a few things that have been bothering me.”

  “Oh, like what?”

  “Like how did your husband get involved in this mess in the first place? If he received the devices from someone up here then what was his connection with them? For that matter, why was the original research done here, near the Los Alamos lab, when they’re more interested in weapons and nuclear power?”

  “I’ve been giving it some thought too. You know I never liked that the helmet and eggs looked like a product run while everyone refers to them as prototypes. What if they are from off world? If someone brought them here for trade or even as a gift it would explain why it looks like it came off a product line rather than out of a lab.”

  “Yes and that makes sense in one other way.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “The documentation said they’re independent of language. What if they are meant to be nothing more than a translator? If you’re postulating alien races then they need to be able to talk to people they meet. What better way to do it then with a device like this?”

  “Yes. I hadn’t thought of that. It does make sense.”

  “Maybe that’s why everyone wants it so bad. Whatever government controls it controls all communications with these aliens.”

  “But still, we’re supposing aliens have contacted someone here. That’s a pretty far reach for my imagination.”

  “Oh? Who was it that said you should imagine one impossible thing before breakfast?”

  “I don’t remember. Let’s see about getting you the hell out of there. I’m at the front door. Were there any guards there?”

  “Yes, there was a uniformed receptionist. He checked Holdren’s ID before letting us pass.”

  “Damn, human guards are a pain in the butt. Is there any other way in?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see any the way we came.”

  “How about windows? Is there one in your room?”

  “Yes, there’s one, but it’s barred.”

  “I can handle the bars, but it would be noisy. All right, how do I find you?”

  “Take the elevator, turn left and go to the first corridor, turn right and I’m in the third door on the left.”

  “Okay, lovely lady, prepare to be rescued. If you need to pack, get started.”

  “I’ll be ready, but, John, be careful.”

  “I’m always careful. Now be quiet for a while, I need to concentrate on what I’m doing.”

  “Sure, John.”

  John moved to the edge of the building. He set both his bags behind a bush and transferred a few items to his coat pockets. Removing his poncho, he covered the bags with it. Then, with another pair of alligator clips and wire, he suspended his driver’s license from around his neck. He unzipped his coat, hung the Uzi’s strap around his neck, and zipped up.

  His pants were dark enough that the blood shouldn’t be noticed unless someone really paid too much attention to them.

  Turning on the field strength indicator, John walked to the front door. He pushed the door open and walked into the lobby. A few plants were in the corners. A small sofa sat against the left wall; on the coffee table in front of it were several magazines and a telephone. The guard, a young man in a rent-a-cop uniform looked up from a magazine as John walked in.

  John raised the power meter to eye level, studied it carefully, and then moved it about as though he were trying to find the source of a signal.

  “Can I help you?” the guard asked.

  “Just trying to find our leak. Some of the experiments release a little radiation and the boss is concerned it may have gotten into the ductwork. Hell, it’ll be harder to get out than asbestos.”

  “You have a radiation leak?” the guard asked. Concern shadowed his voice as he set down the magazine and stood up.

  “It’s nothing major, a few hundred rads worth at the most. Well, in all probability it wasn’t more than a few hundred, a thousand at the outside.”

  “Why wasn’t I told? We’re supposed to be notified of any hazardous conditions. It’s in our contract.”

  John moved the meter closer to the fluorescent lights and the readings strengthened.

  The guard moved closer for a better look at the meter.

  “You think I didn’t warn the boss about letting you guys know? I told him, ‘Boss, if the union ever finds out we didn’t notify them of a class three release, there’ll be grievances filed from now to doomsday.’”

  The young man’s face ashened. “A class three release? My God, that ... that’s ... that’s bad isn’t it?”

  “Well, it can be. Say, these readings are higher than I thought we’d get. Maybe we should evacuate the building. How many people are in here?”

  “Another guard on the second level and a couple of guests.”

  “All right. You let them know we may have to evacuate and I’ll contact the boss to get a decon team over here ASAP.”

  The guard turned his back on John to reach for the telephone.

  John slipped his handgun from its holster and cold cocked the young man behind his right ear. He went limp and crashed to the floor.

  John froze, listening for a sound to indicate he’d been heard. The building was quiet.

  A door in the right wall was labeled restrooms. John gripped the guard under his arms and dragged him toward the door. He didn’t waste time tying the man up, either he would have Caitlin out of there before the guard woke up or it’d be too late for either of them.

  He stopped to read the guard’s nametag. Bill Roberts.

  It struck him that overcoming the guard had been too easy, but with the perimeter security as good as it was, the inside guards usually got a little lax.

  “Caitlin, I’m inside. Are there any other guards?”

  “I didn’t see any, but there could be.”

  “All right, be ready. I should be there in a couple of minutes.”

  John found a pair of elevators just down the hall from the lobby. One set of doors was open. He stepped inside and scanned the controls. There were apparently three floors above ground and two below. He pushed the button for the second floor. The elevator moved silently, but a bell sounded as the doors opened. John pressed the hold button and raised his gun to cover the doorway. No one appeared in the opening. He listened for the sound of footsteps in the hall and waited. In a few seconds, he heard the sound of heavy feet coming toward the elevator.

  “That you, Bill?” a voice called.

  Judging by the sound the speaker was another young man and not more than ten feet away. John let him get a little closer, and then stepped into the hallway. His gun leveled at the speaker.

  The man’s eyes grew wide, but he made no attempt to reach for his holstered weapon.

  “Just remain calm and you won
’t be hurt.”

  “What did you do with Bill?”

  “He’s resting comfortably. Turn around and walk.”

  The guard nodded slowly, then turned, and moved slowly back the way he had come.

  When he reached the first corridor, John stopped him again. “Just hold it there.”

  There was a desk and telephone there and an open paperback mystery novel lay cover up on the desk.

  The book was entitled “S is for Suicide.”

  Down the right corridor, about seventy feet away, an exit sign glowed red above a door.

  John moved close, unsnapped the man’s holster, and removed his weapon.

  “Turn down that way,” John ordered as he shoved the gun into his belt.

  At the third door, John again ordered him to stop. “Unlock that door.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Sure you can. Did you forget I have the gun?”

  “No, it’s just that I don’t have the key.”

  “A jailer without a key? Then what use are you to me?

  John clubbed him behind the ear and he went down.

  He knelt and removed two spare magazines from a leather pouch on the man’s belt. Rising, he stepped over the man’s body and knocked lightly on the door. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  “John, is that you?”

  “Don’t you recognize my voice?”

  “It’s difficult. I can barely hear you.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  John tapped the door again with his knuckles.

  “What uh-oh?” she asked.

  “The door is steel and I don’t have a key. I don’t guess there’s any way to open it from that side?”

  “No, it’s a bare knob over here and I’ve already tried it.”

  “Just a minute then.”

  John holstered his weapon and took his lock picks from a coat pocket. He tried to work fast, but his fingers weren’t as coordinated as usual. It took him nearly two minutes to pick the lock.