The trip to Iraq had been quick and comfortable aboard Alexander’s Gulfstream jet. Getting clearance to land had been easy, thanks to Deep Blue, and the Hummer waiting for them was fully gassed and holding their requested supplies. Energy bars and water were consumed en route. Desert camouflage uniforms were provided so they could move about Babylon without raising too much attention. And a cache of weapons, including five XM25 assault rifles. The XM25s weren’t scheduled for active-duty usage until 2012, but they’d been tested successfully in Iraq and Afghanistan since 2009. They were the future in handheld warfare, able to shoot both standard rounds and 25mm rounds that could explode after a specific distance determined by the weapon’s laser site. Hiding in a ditch or behind a wall offered no protection when up against the XM25’s smart rounds, which King hoped would also provide the punch necessary for fending off any stone golems.
Two hours after touching down, King pulled onto the road leading toward Camp Alpha’s checkpoint gate. He’d waited long enough to broach this topic, but it could no longer be avoided. If Alexander tagged along with the team, he needed a call sign so anonymity could be retained. “You’re call sign will be Pawn for the duration of this mission,” King said to Alexander, who immediately burst out laughing.
“It’s the call sign every temporary team member gets,” Bishop said.
“It’s the irony I find amusing,” Alexander said. “I’m not opposed to the title. Pawn it is.”
They passed a local bazaar full of brightly colored trinkets perfect for U.S. soldiers wanting to send home exotic gifts. The man behind the table gave them a smile and salute as they passed. Palm trees lined the road on both sides, obscuring the view of ancient ruins off to the right.
Ignoring the sites, King pulled up to the Camp Alpha checkpoint. He flashed the ID that had been provided for him.
Corporal Tyler, a young, crew-cut soldier with a southern drawl and matching cowboy swagger, approached from the gatehouse. He looked at the ID then at the passengers in the car, noting the odd mix of Korean, Arab, Caucasian, and Greek passengers. “Mind if I check this out?” he asked, taking King’s ID
“Go right ahead,” King said.
Tyler walked back into the gatehouse and closed the door behind him. His skinny partner, Corporal Stevens, waited for him inside. He took the ID and looked at it.
“USGS, my ass,” Stevens said. “We’re supposed to believe those guys are geologists?”
Tyler worked a laptop, typing in King’s phony information. “You don’t buy it?”
“No way, man. Look at them.”
Both soldiers looked out the brown-tinged windows and saw King and Queen watching them from the Hummer. Tyler’s stomach tensed with intimidation.
“Geez,” Tyler whispered.
“You see, they’re way too badass,” Stevens said. “Twenty bucks says they’re Rangers or Delta.”
The results of Tyler’s search appeared on screen. “Well, according to the database, they’re from the USGS. They check out and have clearance.”
“You gonna ask them?” Stevens said. “Twenty bucks, man.”
After activating the gate, Tyler grunted, took the ID, and headed back out to the Hummer. “You’re all set, sir.” As he handed the ID back to King, Tyler noticed Queen’s window was now rolled down.
“You have twenty bucks?” she asked, holding out her hand.
Tyler looked dumbfounded, but still being intimidated, reached into his pants pocket and took out a twenty-dollar bill. Queen snagged it and handed the money to King. “He bet me you wouldn’t have the guts to ask if we were Delta. And since I have no money on me and you lost me that bet, you’re paying.”
Tyler was stunned and it showed on his face.
“We can read lips,” Queen said as King began to pull through the open gate. She flashed a smile. “Everyone at the USGS can. Now go pay your friend.”
Tyler walked back to the gatehouse and sat down on the single step. Stevens stood next to him, equally dumbfounded. “That was awesome.”
Tyler gave a nod. “Yup.”
* * *
KING PULLED THE Hummer through and slowed as he approached a bend in the road. The Ishtar Gate stood before them. The original Ishtar Gate had been one of the seven ancient wonders of the world before being replaced by the Great Lighthouse at Alexandria. The original gate stood forty-seven feet tall, was constructed of blue bricks, and held over sixty yellow and white mosaic lions and dragons. Its central arch was the eighth gate into Babylon’s inner city.
As King looked at Saddam’s smaller replica and pondered its history, he realized they had been driving over the buried ruins of Babylon for some time. The area they had to search was expansive, but hopefully not without some clues. Past the Ishtar Gate, King pulled the Hummer into a dirt parking lot full of military vehicles. He parked in front of the amphitheater where the U.S. military had first set up shop.
They were quickly greeted by General Raymond Fowler, who had been briefed by General Keasling. They were to have free access to the ruins in and around the base, access to any equipment they requested, and, should they ask for it, the help of every enlisted man on base. The general had protested the orders until he found out they came directly from President Duncan.
King exited the Hummer and squinted as the hot sandy Iraqi air assaulted him again. He gave Fowler a quick salute and shook his hand. Seeing the man’s skepticism, King said, “Sorry for the intrusion, General. We’ll try to be out of your hair as soon as possible.”
The general forced a smile, which turned a scar on his cheek into an upside-down question mark, and hung on to King’s hand. “That’s kind of you, son. But I’d like to know if you all are going to stir up a hornet’s nest in my base.”
“Sir?”
“I know who you are. I know that you were a part of what happened back at Bragg. I need to know if I should expect something similar here.”
King took no offense at the general’s forceful tone and the strong grip he maintained. “We hope not, sir. But … it might be best to keep your men on alert. We’re not sure what we’re going to find”—King looked at the sandy ruins—“out there.”
Fowler let go of King’s hand. “Appreciate the candor. Will you need armed escorts?”
King shook his head, no. “We need to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. Best if no one gives us any special attention.”
“Understood,” Fowler said. “What can I do for you?”
“Just keep the ruins clear while we’re out there.”
“Are you looking for something in particular? We’ve been stationed here since 2003 and know every nook and cranny of the ruins.”
“What we’re after is most likely beneath the ruins.”
Fowler looked out at the ruins with suspicion in his eyes. Then he recalled something. “An archaeological team had been studying the ruins before we arrived. They were part of Saddam’s effort to rebuild Babylon and were searching for the more famous monuments, like the Hanging Gardens.”
King tried to show no reaction. If they had been searching for the Hanging Gardens it’s possible they had also been searching for Babel. “That may be helpful. Knight, Bishop, why don’t you check it out? We’ll start in the ruins. General, do you know if the archaeologists working here are still around?”
“Two of the lead archaeologists are dead,” Fowler said. “One is missing. But much of the support staff is still here in Baghdad. I’ll see who I can track down.”
King gave a nod of thanks. He headed for the back of the Hummer, opened the trunk, and handed XM25s to Bishop and Knight. “Keep your ears and eyes open. If you find something that points us in a direction, let me know.”
“You got it, boss,” Knight said before turning to the general. “After you.”
Fowler gave the weapons a long look before he turned and walked away. “This way.”
As Fowler led Knight and Bishop away, King turned back to the open Hummer and took out the most importa
nt piece of equipment they had with them. With the war in Afghanistan requiring better cave detecting equipment, the military had been borrowing technology from NASA’s Mars program. The result were handheld Quantum Well Infrared Photodetectors (QWIPs), which could see through the desert sand and collect thermal data. The resulting images were called thermograms. They showed the difference in temperature between desert sand or bedrock and the open space of a cave, or in this case, the open chamber of a buried tower. Since the user wore the device on the left hand—sensor in the palm facedown, images displayed on the forearm-mounted LCD display—King and his team could also carry their weapons without a problem.
Armed with the most high-tech handheld weapons and technology the military had, King, Queen, and Alexander set off for the ruins of Babylon.
SIXTY-SIX
Babylon, Iraq
KING TOOK A drink from the twenty-ounce bottle he’d been nursing for the past two hours. He knew he needed to get more liquid soon, but with Fiona’s insulin deadline long since up, he had to stretch the water as far as possible. And right now, that meant walking a grid over a very large area of desert. He had a second bottle with him meant for Fiona if he managed to find her. But if the day went long, he’d have no choice but to start on the second bottle.
To anyone watching he would look like a delirious soldier with a penchant for checking the time as he kept his eyes on the LCD display on his arm. He had come across several air pockets but no actual caves, and certainly no ziggurat remains. While Queen and Alexander searched the maze of ruins in Babylon proper, King had pursued a different path. Between the bank of the Euphrates River and the exposed Babylonian ruins stood one of many palaces built by Saddam Hussein. A spiraling road rounded the tall mound it stood on. Built from brown stone, it was utilitarian save for the thick arches that surrounded the building and gave it a genuine Babylonian feel. Much of the symmetrical hill was clearly man-made, but Saddam was known for building atop Babylonian ruins with no regard for what lay beneath. And when it came to his palaces, he had no trouble burying the past. What King wanted to know was how much of the hill existed before Saddam added to it. To find out, he’d push the QWIP to its limits.
As he walked up the side of the hill, he activated his throat mic. “Find anything yet, Bishop?”
Bishop’s voice returned. “Not a thing, but that’s not because there isn’t anything here, it’s because there’s too much.”
“We’re drowning in old maps and notebooks,” Knight said.
King had hoped intel would expedite the search, but it seemed finding anything useful in the archaeological archives was as much a needle in a haystack as finding a temple underground with thermal imaging. As he crossed the spiraling road and headed up the hillside, King watched the thermal imager. It showed solid earth all the way through.
As the monotony of the image continued, he looked ahead. Brush and the occasional palm tree covered the hillside. He adjusted his path to avoid a tree and then looked to the west, over the Euphrates. From this high vantage point he could see the desert stretching out in all directions. It was massive—like a tan ocean speckled with floating ruins and carved by modern roads. Fiona was somewhere out there.
As his patience began to fade, King noticed a hill on the other side of the river. Small ruins sat at its base. He toggled his mic again. “Bishop, did Babylon expand to the other side of the Euphrates?”
“Hold on…” King could hear rustling paper and Knight’s voice in the background. “Yeah. Looks like a good portion of it did.”
“That’s all I needed to know.” King broke contact and gave up on his current search. He turned and made for the bottom of the hill, where a U.S. military boat launch had been built. Three black patrol boats were tied to the docks, each with a mounted machine gun.
As King approached the dock, a lone soldier stomped out a cigarette and blew the smoke from the side of his mouth. “You one of them USGS fellas I’m supposed to assist if asked?”
“How’d you know?” King said.
“Been watching you walk back and forth with your head turned toward the ground for an hour now. Only two types of people do that. The clinically depressed and people in love with dirt. You ain’t depressed are you?”
King grinned. “Not yet.”
“You spend too much time out here and I promise you will be.” He gave a smile that revealed a set of nicotine-stained teeth. “Name’s Bowers. What can I do you for?”
“I need a ferryman,” King said.
“Going to the other side of the Euphrat is like crossing the River Styx,” Bowers said.
“How’s that?”
“Ain’t nobody over there to save you. You’ll be on your own.”
“Not quite,” King said with a grin. “You’re going to wait for me.”
Bowers stepped aboard the nearest boat. “Well shit, this will be the most I’ve done in weeks.”
King boarded the boat and they cast off. They crossed the river quickly, beaching the craft on the sandy bank. As King stepped out of the boat and onto shore, Bowers took note of the XM25. His mouth opened a little. “Geologist, my ass. What the hell are you looking for?”
“Just be ready for anything,” King said with a glance at the machine gun. “Anything.”
“You got it,” Bowers said and began loading the machine gun. “How will I know what to shoot?”
King looked back as he hiked up the sand toward the ruins and the small hill beyond. “Odds are it won’t be human.”
* * *
THE DIM LIGHT in the barracks-turned-storage shed was hardly enough to see by, so Bishop had propped open the door allowing the sun to light the room. Unfortunately, it also allowed gritty sand to swirl inside with every gust of hot wind. They did their best to ignore the air quality and focus on combing through boxes of archaeological data.
And there was enough to keep them occupied for days. Knight spent his time going over maps. Though he couldn’t read a word of Arabic, he could clearly see that there were no ancient ziggurats drawn on any maps. Bishop combed through the notebooks, skimming each entry for keywords. Thus far he’d found nothing.
Bishop and Knight were so intent on their work that neither noticed the men who entered the barracks until they closed the door. Knight turned as their light was cut in half. With his hand now on his rifle, Knight focused on the door where an Iraqi man dressed in brown pants and a white button-down shirt stood. General Fowler stood behind him.
“We tracked down one of the men involved in the pre-2003 excavations. He might be able to help make sense of all this,” Fowler said, motioning to the stacks of boxes. “Let me know when you’re finished with him and we’ll send an escort. Now if you’ll excuse me, my attention is needed elsewhere.”
Fowler left quickly, leaving a nervous-looking Iraqi standing in the middle of the room.
“What’s your name?” Knight asked.
“Rahim, sir. My English not so good.”
Without standing or turning around to greet the newcomer, Bishop said, in perfect Arabic, “You were a part of the Babylonian excavations, Rahim?”
Rahim replied in Arabic. “I was an assistant to one of the archaeologists. I was here for three years.”
“Do you know of the Tower of Babel?” Bishop asked.
“We searched for it for years,” the man said, growing excited.
“And?”
“It’s not here.”
Bishop stopped paging through the journal in his hands. He closed it, stood, and turned around. Rahim stumbled back away from Bishop, his eyes fearful. The military hardness of Bishop combined with his muscles and shaved head no doubt brought back memories of times when men like Bishop were to be feared.
“You’re Iraqi?” Rahim asked.
“I was born in Iran,” Bishop said.
This only deepened Rahim’s fear.
Bishop showed a relaxed smile. “But I was raised in America. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Rahim�
��s fear eased a little, but he didn’t take his eyes off Bishop for very long.
The conversation was interrupted by King’s voice in their ears. Rahim looked at them like they were insane as Bishop and Knight stopped everything and listened. Then Bishop turned to him. “You said the tower isn’t here?”
Rahim nodded. “We scoured the whole site with ground-penetrating radar. We found many exciting sites, but no ziggurats large enough to fit the profile of the Tower of Babel. But some of the team believed the tower lay elsewhere, outside of Babylon.”
“What is beneath the mound on the opposite side of the river?” Bishop asked.
The man’s head snapped up, his face excited. “We never got a chance to dig, but the archaeologists suspected it was the Hanging Gardens.”
“The Hanging Gardens,” Bishop said to Knight in English.
Knight relayed the information. “King, a man from the original dig is here. He’s saying that the Tower of Babel isn’t here, and that the site you’re checking out might be—”
A burst of static cut him off.
“King. King? Do you copy?” Knight looked at Bishop. The only reason King wouldn’t reply was if he couldn’t.
“Rahim, we need you to show us where this mound is,” Bishop said.
* * *
A HALF MILE away on the opposite side of the Euphrates River, atop a mound of sand, the only trace of King’s presence was a divot in the earth. With each passing moment, the wind filled the hole with fresh sand. Less than a minute after King was sucked into the earth, no trace of him remained—except for his XM25 assault rifle.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Severodvinsk, Russia
THE CITY OF Severodvinsk was not what Rook expected, not this far north. In some ways it reminded him of Portsmouth, New Hampshire—built on the coast, home to a submarine yard, featuring an old fishing culture still eking out a living—but Portsmouth’s population was closer to thirty thousand. Severodvinsk supported a population of nearly two hundred thousand.
Not that he minded the crowded streets. It made hiding in the open that much easier. Being a major naval hub, the city was full of military men, some in uniform, more in plainclothes. Despite wanting a stiff drink, Rook avoided the pubs and stuck to coffee shops, all the while searching for the one man who might be able to help him: Maksim Dashkov.
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