The Nostradamus File

by Alex Lukeman

  "You cover me while I run for that big tombstone over there." Nick pointed at a large, weeping angel, gray in the cold light. "Ready?"

  Selena inserted a fresh magazine, nodded. She began squeezing off rapid shots. Nick got to his feet and ran flat out for the angel. Bullets kicked up dirt around his feet and caromed from the memorial, whining away into the night. One struck the heel of his boot and sent him sprawling. He rolled behind the monument and squatted down. His foot was numb. The heel of the boot was gone.

  Lights were coming on in the rectory. Someone would be calling the cops. They didn't have much time. He darted a glance around the base of the angel, saw movement, fired. The figure collapsed. He saw no one else. There was a pause in the firing while Selena reloaded. Ronnie had stopped shooting. Was he hit? Nick put the thought aside.

  He heard a vehicle start up. A dark van shot out from the other side of the church, past the main entrance and onto the road leading to town. Nick stood and fired after it until the slide locked back on his gun. It disappeared into the night. He reloaded and ran limping toward the church.

  Selena got to her feet. Ronnie came out of the vestibule. "They kept me pinned down," he said. "They left and took the altar with them."

  The rectory was ablaze with light. Nick thought he saw a curtain move at a window.

  "Time to boogie," he said.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  "There wasn't anything else we could do," Nick said. "Whoever planned it knew we were coming. They set up an ambush and kept us busy while they grabbed the Ark."

  "Are you sure it was the Ark?" Elizabeth asked.

  Nick, Selena, Stephanie and Ronnie were gathered in Elizabeth's office. Burps slept on his back on a cat bed in the corner of the room. He snored. Elizabeth had bought the bed on a spur of the moment impulse. Now she was wondering why she had.

  "I don't know, Director. But they took the whole altar with them. That makes me think the Ark was inside it."

  "The altar was big enough," Selena said. "It was made from plain wood without decoration, like a big rectangular box. A Puritan would like an altar like that. It would never have occurred to anyone to see if there was something inside it."

  "MI5 took over from the local bobbies," Elizabeth said, "to clean up after you. Automatic weapons aren't that usual in England. They were looking for terrorist connections."

  "They find any?" Ronnie said.

  "No. But all of the dead men were in the system. All former military. Two from SAS, one from our own Rangers. They found blood trails, so you probably winged a few more."

  "Mercenaries," Nick said.

  "MI5 identified one of them as having worked for a contractor security company called MKTA. It's run by a former SAS Colonel named McKenzie. MKTA has been implicated in a massacre at a refugee camp in Africa. They're suspect in other incidents as well."

  "No proof it was them?"

  "Nothing that would hold up in court."

  "What's McKenzie's story? You don't make that kind of rank in SAS without serious skills. Why didn't he stay in?"

  "He was forced to resign after he allowed the torture of Iraqi prisoners. He should have gone to prison."

  "Someone must have hired him," Ronnie said.

  "That's where it gets interesting," Stephanie said. "I found this."

  The monitor on the wall came to life with a picture taken at Logan Airport in Boston. An unsmiling, hard looking man with a short haircut and sunglasses was passing through customs.

  "That's McKenzie. He showed up right after you came back from your visit to Pembroke Castle."

  She pressed a key. The next shot was taken outside the terminal. McKenzie was getting into a private limousine. The rear plate was easy to read in the photo.

  "That's not an airport limo. It belongs to Phillip Harrison, the main player in Cask and Swords."

  "The group Adam told me about."

  "Harrison has a place up in Maine on a private island, but McKenzie flew back to London that same evening. So he must have met with Harrison in Boston."

  "It backs up what Adam told me. Explains why a sociopath like McKenzie is hanging out with a big banker," Nick said.

  "They kind of go together, don't they?" Ronnie said. "Sociopaths and big bankers?"

  "Try to be serious, please." Harker picked up her pen. "Let's make some assumptions."

  "Why would McKenzie's people be in that church?" Selena asked.

  "'Same reason as us," Nick said. "They were after the Ark. That's assumption number one."

  Stephanie said, "Maybe they were after you."

  "Why wait until we went to the church? How did they even know we'd be there? It makes more sense the other way."

  "You have a point."

  "If they were after the Ark and Harrison met with McKenzie, assumption number two is pretty obvious."

  "Harrison hired McKenzie to find the Ark," Ronnie said.

  "Right."

  "So what's the next assumption?"

  "How did they find the Ark?"

  "The same way we did?" Selena asked.

  "They didn't have the sword, or know about Cromwell. There's an easier way. Let us do it for them."

  "They were following you," Elizabeth said, "and that's how they knew where to look. If they found a way to bug your conversations, that would tell them where."

  "Pretty sophisticated, but it makes sense. McKenzie would know about that kind of technology."

  "What's our next assumption?" Ronnie asked.

  "That the Ark was hidden in the altar and McKenzie will bring it to Harrison. He may already have done it." Elizabeth set her pen down.

  "We might still have a chance to intercept before he delivers it."

  "We don't know where he'd hand it over to Harrison."

  "I don't think he'd fly it into Boston," Selena said. "Or any other place where customs might want to take a look. He needs privacy, someplace remote."

  "McKenzie owns a sea going yacht called the Bristol Angel," Stephanie said, "and Harrison owns that island in Maine."

  She tapped a few keys. An aerial shot of the island came up on the wall monitor.

  "This is it. It's pretty remote, up near Canada. McKenzie could take the Ark there. The weather is good. He could sail that boat across the Atlantic and never get near a customs port."

  "Can we get a real time view of the island?" Nick asked.

  "The satellite comes into range in about an hour. I can get something then."

  "Let me guess," Ronnie said. "The next assumption is that if the Ark is on that island, someone has to go get it. Like us."

  "Why we pay you big bucks, Ronnie."

  "What's the name of this place?"

  "Indian Island," Elizabeth said. "You ought to feel right at home."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  Nick, Ronnie and Selena studied satellite photos of Harrison's island.

  "About a mile long," Ronnie said, "maybe half a mile wide."

  "Mostly rocks and trees," Nick said.

  "It looks like the dock below the house is the only decent landing spot."

  "There has to be another place we can land." Nick tugged on his ear.

  "I went over the charts with Lamont," Ronnie said. "The water around the island is full of rocks and currents. It's unpredictable. Treacherous on a good day."

  "We could use Lamont on this one," Nick said. "Guess you can't have everything."

  "He spotted a place on the north shore where we could get a raft in, here." Ronnie marked one of the photos. "It'll be tricky, but I don't see any way to take in a boat."

  "Raft it is. We'll take a Zodiac."

  "What about security?" Selena asked. "Harrison is bound to have cameras. Maybe dogs, sensors."

  "I don't see any kennels," Nick said, "but he must have people walking around. We'll have to play it by ear. Once we're on shore, there's good cover. It's thick woods. I think we can get close without much trouble. The house is a different story. It's clear all around, no cover at all."


  "What's this building here?" Selena asked. She indicated a rectangular structure about a hundred feet from the house. A graveled drive led from there to the house.

  "Looks like an equipment shed of some kind, or a big garage."

  "The trees come right up to it. We could make that the first objective."

  Nick nodded. "That would work. We go at night. We make it to that building, get out of sight and make sure everyone's asleep. Then we move on the house."

  Stephanie came into the room. "New pics from our eye in the sky," she said. "You want to see these."

  She put one of the pictures on the table. "Harrison showed up late yesterday. That's him."

  The picture had been taken from 80,000 feet but looked as though it had been shot by someone close by. Harrison was wearing a short sleeved shirt, light pants and boat shoes. He had his hands in his pockets. His face was easily recognizable.

  "The satellite made another pass this morning, around two hours ago." She spread several pictures on the table. A sleek vessel had tied up at the end of the pier. They could make out the name on the stern of the boat. It was the Bristol Angel, McKenzie's yacht. A man stood on the dock, hands on his hips.

  "That's Nigel McKenzie."

  Four men were lifting a wooden crate from somewhere below decks. In the next picture, Phillip Harrison could be seen walking toward McKenzie. As the progression of pictures continued, Harrison and McKenzie shook hands and stood watching while the crate was moved to the pier.

  "That's it. The satellite went out of range."

  "Thanks, Steph."

  "Let me know if you need anything else." She went back upstairs.

  "Question is, did they take that box to the house or one of the other buildings?" Ronnie said.

  "And is it the Ark?" Selena said.

  "Pack your bathing suit," Nick said.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  The moon was an electric, cold light glittering off the white froth of the Atlantic. The raft rose and fell and slapped hard against the uneven chop, sending showers of salt spray over them. A stiff breeze brought the smell of pine and earth. They were close to the island.

  They wore black combat gear with full body armor. Each had a SIG-Sauer P229 and an MP-5N slung across the chest. Reliable, accurate and deadly, with a high rate of fire. It would work if it was drenched in water.

  Selena and Nick rode in the center of a Navy Seal CRRC, a Zodiac. The inflatable raft had separate, water-tight compartments that might keep it from sinking if there was a puncture or tear. A fuel cell in the front fed the engine with a rubber hose. Ronnie was at the tiller, navigating with his GPS. The outboard engine was a two stroke impeller type with pump-jet propulsion, rated at 55 horses. It was quiet for an outboard but it wasn't completely silent. Nick wasn't much worried about the noise. It was a reasonable bet that guards wouldn't patrol this far away from the house. This end of the island was covered with a thick stand of trees. The swirling ocean currents and heavy surf were an effective deterrent. He watched the shore draw closer and understood why.

  Sharp rocks rose black and wet and ragged in the moonlight. They stuck out of the dark waters like the teeth of a giant sea-beast lying in wait for its prey. The Atlantic whirled and churned about them, turning the surface into a frenzy of foam. The waves made a deep, booming noise as they dashed themselves to spray on the rocks, drowning out the sound of the motor.

  "There's the gap," Ronnie said. He pointed at a narrow channel filled with white foam between two tall rocks. "Once we're through, it will be calm. The shore's about fifty yards past."

  He opened the throttle. The raft surged forward, slapping the waves.

  Selena held on tight where she sat. I don't like this, she thought. I don't like this at all. She watched the rocks getting closer. The nearer they got, the sharper they looked. They entered the gap.

  The water gripped the raft in a relentless fist. The raft swerved right and turned sideways.

  "Current!" Ronnie yelled.

  They struck the rocks. Selena heard the fabric rip open against the hard, sharp surface. The fuel cell ruptured. A pungent mix of gas and oil sprayed over her boots. Air rushed out of the front of the raft and water poured over the edge. The raft dipped and tilted and slammed against the rocks and she was thrown into the icy water. The Zodiac swung back and hit her in the head.

  She went under, the weight of her gear pulling her down. A sudden, sharp pain cut through her pants and into her leg. The salt water was like fire in the wound. She fought the current, desperate for air, and broke the surface. She had time to draw in a breath before she was sucked under again. She fought the undertow and struggled and kicked until she broke into the air again.

  The current let her go. She looked around for the others.

  The raft was a crumpled mass, hung fast on the unforgiving rocks. The shredded fabric tossed and bobbed in the waves. She saw Ronnie break the surface not far away, then Nick.

  They swam toward the shore until they could set their feet down and wade onto the island. The beach was a strip of fist-sized rocks and strewn sea wrack, six or seven feet wide. She fell to her knees, exhausted.

  "Keep moving. Into the woods," Nick said. They got inside the line of trees and Nick held up his hand.

  "All right. We deal with it." He saw the gash on Selena's leg. "You're hurt."

  She looked down. Blood welled from the cut, black under the moon. She took her knife and slit the pants leg so she could see the wound. It was a nasty, ragged gash almost a foot long.

  "Help me get it bandaged," she said.

  Each of them carried a compact med kit designed for a quick patch in the field. Basic stuff to stop bleeding, stave off infection, sew something up, or bandage it. Nick began working on her.

  "Going to leave a scar," he said. "You have to stop this. You'll catch up to me."

  "Maybe I'll get a tattoo over it after it heals." She winced as Nick bandaged the injury. "Hearts and flowers in a vine. Or guns and roses."

  "Death before dishonor," Ronnie said.

  "A big heart with Mom inside it," Nick said. He stood. "Try it out."

  She stood. It hurt, but the leg felt solid under her.

  "Just a scratch," she said. "I'm fine."

  "Okay. We lost the comm gear, the night vision stuff and the extra ammo, but we still have our weapons. Check to see what you've got for ammo."

  They checked the pockets of their uniforms.

  "Three extra mags for the MP-5, one in the gun," Ronnie said. "Two mags for the pistol, plus one in."

  "My spare MP-5 mags are gone," Selena said. "Just the one in. I've got two extras for the pistol, one in."

  "And I'm the same as Ronnie. Here." Nick handed her one of his MP-5 backups. Ronnie did the same. She put them in a pocket and shivered.

  "90 rounds each. Make 'em count," Nick said. "It's cold, but we'll warm up as we move through the woods. We can't risk a fire. Check your weapons, dry things out as best you can. They'll work if they're wet, but get the water out."

  "Your phone work?" Ronnie asked.

  Nick took out the pouch with his phone. The pouch was soaked. He took the phone out. There was no signal.

  "Nada. Maybe later."

  They worked on drying out the guns. Then they set off through the woods for the garage near Harrison's house.

  Somewhere in the darkness an owl hooted, a long, mournful cry.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  At 4:00 A.M. Elizabeth came into her office and found a dead mouse lying by her chair. Burps had been leaving little presents for her. This morning it was a mouse. Yesterday it had been a garter snake. She put the small corpse in her wastebasket.

  That darn cat is courting me, she thought.

  Stephanie came in with a cup of coffee. Steam wafted from the cup.

  "Thanks, Steph."

  Elizabeth took the cup and blew on the hot, black liquid. She wasn't surprised to find Steph here and working. Most days they were both in by 5:00 A.M. T
oday, Elizabeth had quit at midnight and slept in the living quarters downstairs. That had been happening a lot, lately. She'd taken to keeping changes of clothing and back up toiletries downstairs, just in case.

  "Israel just shot down a drone Hezbollah sent from Lebanon," Stephanie said. "That's the second one this week."

  "I don't know why they think those will work. Iran sends the parts to Lebanon, Hezbollah assembles them and sends them off, Israel shoots them down. What's the point?"

  "Prestige booster for Hezbollah's leaders. Look at us, we are doing God's work against the Zionist enemy, all that BS. Hezbollah is a serious opponent, though. They fought Israel to a stalemate during the last invasion."

  "That was political. I don't think they can stop the Israelis this time around," Elizabeth said. "Lerner is going to give it everything he's got. It's a matter of hours at most before he moves. That drone may be the last thing he needs to justify an invasion."

  On Elizabeth's desk was a small device which had only one purpose. It displayed the current defense condition level in colored letters and numerals. When Rice had raised the level to DEFCON3, the color had changed from yellow-green to yellow. Now the device beeped three times. The display changed to orange. It said DEFCON2.

  Elizabeth looked at it and felt as though she'd swallowed a lead ball. Her phone rang.

  "Harker." She listened for a moment. "Steph, bring up the SBIRS system on the monitor. And whatever we've got over the Middle East."

  SBIRS stood for Satellite Based Infrared Surveillance. Two dozen birds in geostationary and moving orbits formed a grid that covered the globe. It was one of the key strategic assets in America's intelligence network. SBIRS had been built primarily to monitor, track and help destroy a hostile missile launch.

  "Thank you, Clarence." Elizabeth hung up the phone. She turned to Stephanie.

  "That was DCI Hood. There's activity at Badr missile base in Iran. Hood was giving me a heads up. He's worried that the Israelis may have learned Iran has a nuke."

  "Badr is where they have the Shahab 3-B," Stephanie said. "What if they put that nuke on one of those?"