Black Sun dl-2

by Graham Brown

  A second Humvee tried to race up the driver’s side looking for a better angle to fire from, but Moore swung the big truck sharply, and the tail end slammed the smaller vehicle against the wall of the narrow tunnel.

  A shower of sparks lit up the darkness. As Moore pulled away, the Humvee tumbled out of control, rolling over and almost wiping out Stecker’s vehicle in the process.

  His driver swerved around it and a third Humvee joined the chase. But Moore had now built himself some space and was still accelerating.

  “Shoot out the tires,” Stecker ordered. “Stop him or we’re all dead.”

  As if on cue, alarms, hooked up throughout the complex, began to sound. “One minute to EM Burst Event,” a computerized female voice announced. “Shut down all electrical systems. Repeat, shut down all electrical systems.”

  Stecker glanced at the digital readout that had been hastily installed in the cab of the Humvee. It was ticking unnervingly fast. The voice rang out through the tunnel. “Fifty-five … fifty-four … fifty-three.”

  Up ahead, Stecker saw the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. A place he did not want Moore to reach.

  “Seal the doors!” he shouted into the radio. “Seal the damned doors!”

  * * *

  Sinking fast, Hawker could feel the pressure growing in his ears. His hands scraped the walls, searching for something to grab, but the granite was smooth and the weight of Kang and his mechanical armor continued to drag him down.

  He slammed his heel into Kang’s chest, trying to break free, and Kang tried to grab his other leg. Neither succeeded and they crashed into the bottom. The impact jarred Kang’s hand loose, and Hawker pushed off, pumping his arms and legs, desperate to reach the surface.

  Below him he saw Kang trying to swim or climb, but the weight was too much and he fell back, landing at the bottom of the well, like some kind of offering to the gods. A spot beside him waited for Hawker if he didn’t keep going.

  On the verge of blacking out, Hawker pushed harder, kicking and clawing for the surface.

  He burst through, exhaling a cloud of carbon dioxide and sucking in a breath of clean air. The closest land to him was the island at the center of the cenote. He swam for the stairs.

  By now he could feel the waves of energy whipping, a staticlike feeling that ran through his frame. The water around him began to churn and vibrate with a sound so deep that it shook his body from the inside.

  Reaching the stairs, he dragged himself out of the water. He crawled up toward the well that Father Domingo had spoken of.

  The Sacrifice of the Body.

  Hawker stared at the altar. The vibration inside him had sharpened into pain; the sound in his head became a scream. With each piercing wave, ropes of water whipped up into the air around him, like some beast trying to break its chains.

  To the left, on the shore, he saw movement. He turned to see a figure scampering down the slope. Yuri.

  How was it possible? How had he come here?

  Yuri made it down the side of the embankment to where Hawker’s backpack had come to rest.

  “No!” Hawker shouted.

  Yuri opened the pack and pulled the lead case out.

  “Yuri, don’t!”

  Yuri did not hear him. He opened the case and stared at the stone as if the gates of heaven rested inside.

  The ground trembled from the next surge of energy, but Hawker remained locked on Yuri.

  This can’t be happening.

  He heard shouting. Over the noise in his head, and the chaos around him, he somehow heard shouting. He looked up. Danielle was sliding down, racing to Yuri.

  Another wave of energy whipped through. The pillar he stood on shook to its foundations, knocking him down. More ropes of water whipped off the surface, lashing the walls and flying around like deranged spirits.

  With the world coming apart around him, and the ground shaking so hard he could no longer stand, Hawker crawled forward. He saw the counterweights and the ropes. He spotted the lever that Father Domingo had said he would find.

  * * *

  Moore kept the pedal floored, but up ahead the light was dimming. The monstrous doors to Yucca Mountain were closing.

  “Twenty-nine … twenty-eight … twenty-seven.”

  He crossed into the triple-bore area near the entrance; the tunnel widened. Almost immediately the second Humvee pulled up on his left. Moore swerved toward it.

  Shots were fired, blasting into the cab. Moore flinched as the mirror shattered. His arm took a hit and flew off the steering wheel.

  Moore’s truck swerved, a front tire exploded, and the big rig went over on its side. It crashed down hard and skidded toward the exit, grinding to a stop twenty feet from the threshold.

  “Twenty-three … twenty-two … twenty-one.”

  Moore looked out through the shattered windshield. Blood ran down his face; one eye was swelling shut. But there was still a chance.

  He grabbed his coat, extricated himself from the wreckage, and crawled toward the narrowing band of light.

  He heard the klaxons sounding, heard the voice warning.

  “Nineteen … eighteen …”

  Suddenly he was unable to move. He looked back, straining to see through his swollen eye.

  Stecker was standing on the tail of his coat, looking down at him like an owner who had caught the leash of a disobedient hound.

  “You’re too late,” Stecker said. He yanked the coat from Moore’s grasp as the doors ahead of him slammed shut with a monstrous metallic clang.

  Stecker opened Moore’s coat but found nothing inside.

  “Fifteen … fourteen …”

  “Nothing in here!” one of the guards yelled from the cab of the overturned truck.

  “Where is it?” Stecker shouted.

  Moore stared up at him, battered and shaking. “I don’t have it,” he said simply.

  Stecker’s face betrayed utter confusion, but suddenly he seemed to understand. He looked back down the tunnel.

  “Ahiga.”

  * * *

  In a distant part of the Yucca Mountain, at the top of a ventilation shaft that served as an escape route should something go wrong, Nathanial Ahiga heard the alarm go critical. He pushed upward, slamming against the hatch.

  “Three …”

  His mind reeled from the darkness and the fear of falling that gripped him. He pushed again, barely moving the heavy door.

  “Two …”

  Shouting a Navajo curse, he forced the hatch open. The blazing Nevada sunset burned his eyes and he tumbled out onto the mountainside holding the stone aloft.

  “One …”

  * * *

  Hawker lunged for the handle.

  “I believe,” he whispered as his hand slammed onto the lever.

  The counterweights released. Heavy stones dropped into tunnels on either side of the well and the ropes spooled out over metal pulleys at tremendous speed. Something came racing up the tunnel toward him. The blocks slammed home and the fourth stone was jammed into position.

  Hawker saw it for an instant. Then the world went still. His hearing shrank to nothing. And everything vanished in a blinding flash of white.

  CHAPTER 68

  Hawker became aware of being conscious, and by extension alive, when the pounding in his head became too much to bear. He woke with his back to the stony ground and some type of wet cloth over his eyes.

  The quiet around him seemed complete — the exact opposite of all he remembered.

  He tried to move but found it too painful.

  “Hawker?” a voice called to him. “Can you hear me?” The voice was kind but worried. He recognized it as Danielle’s.

  He managed to move his hand, trying to bring it up toward the cloth, but he lacked the strength even to do that.

  Danielle pulled the cloth from his eyes.

  At first he saw only shadows, blurs of light, and the outline of her face. But slowly his eyes focused and the details appeared.
She was a mess, but God she was beautiful.

  “What happened?” The words croaked from his throat, dry as dust.

  “You put the stone into place,” she said. “The blast knocked you a hundred feet, and you landed in the water.”

  He looked at her. Her clothes were damp, and muddy in places instead of dusty. “You end up in the water, too?”

  “I didn’t want you to drown.”

  He was thankful for that. He tried to prop himself up. She helped him.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Two hours,” she said. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  They were up on the mesa. It was completely dark. “Aside from getting my ass kicked, did anything happen?”

  She smiled for the first time, but there was still a sense of sadness in her eyes. “See for yourself.”

  She helped him turn around.

  Out over the cenote, against the backdrop of the night, he could see ghostly filaments of light rising upward. They poured from the island at its center, a twisting, almost invisible column of light.

  He followed the strands upward, into the dark of the sky, where they spread into a shimmering curtain of white and blue. The display moved in a curious fashion, flowing and bending back in upon itself. At times it seemed to flicker and fade, as if it might be a mirage, but then the brightness would grow once again and the color would become more intense than it had been before.

  “What is it?” Hawker asked.

  “Charged particles in the atmosphere, channeling along the magnetic lines and funneling themselves harmlessly into space,” she said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s an aurora,” she said. “I’ve seen one before, although normally the charged particles are coming down into the planet.”

  “Shield of the Jaguar,” Hawker said.

  She nodded, but the sad look returned.

  Suddenly he remembered about Yuri.

  He looked around. Back toward the cenote he saw a man whose features he couldn’t make out sitting and staring at the curtain of light in the sky. Beside them a smaller figure lay draped beneath a jacket.

  “Please tell me …,” he began.

  She shook her head. “It was too much for him,” she said.

  Hawker closed his eyes, choking back a wave of emotion.

  “He fell limp the instant it happened,” she said. “The soul stone flew out of his hands toward the well at the same moment you were being flung away from it.”

  Danielle paused, trying to control her own sadness. “There was a trickle of blood near the base of his skull. A tiny hole like he’d been hit by a dart. I think the sliver was pulled from his body in the same way.”

  A wave of numbness flowed through Hawker’s body. He’d known, even before he released the counterweights. He’d known what was going to happen to Yuri, but in that moment he realized that something far worse was going to happen if he didn’t. The only comfort he could find was that Yuri had given his life for many, perhaps for billions around the globe.

  Sacrifice of the Body.

  It was a Mayan belief, a Christian belief, a Jewish and Muslim belief as well. Innocent blood, shed for the rest of us. To make the rains come, to make the crops grow. To save the world.

  Four days before Christmas, on the turning point of the Mayan calendar, a day known as 4 Ahau, 3 Kankin, the story found truth once again.

  CHAPTER 69

  Bethesda Naval Hospital, Bethesda, Maryland

  Forty-eight hours later, Hawker, Danielle, and McCarter arrived back in the United States aboard an air force transport. For Hawker it was the first time he’d set foot on American soil in over a decade, though so far none of them had seen much of it. Lingering problems with Hawker’s eyes, official secrecy, and a tight security cordon meant waiting in ambulances at Edwards Air Force Base and several days in the confines of the Bethesda Naval Hospital.

  During that time, Hawker’s eyesight returned to normal, Danielle was treated for low-level radiation poisoning, and McCarter’s leg was operated on and his infection finally, adequately addressed.

  With those efforts winding down, Danielle found herself growing frustrated. Aside from the treatment and long debriefing sessions, she and the others had been confined to their individual rooms. She wanted to talk with Moore, to check on McCarter, and mostly she wanted to speak with Hawker. But so far she’d been unable to either sneak past the guard at her door or convince him to look the other way.

  Arnold Moore arrived on her fourth day in “captivity.” He looked like he’d been fifteen rounds with a prize fighter.

  “What the hell happened to you?” she asked.

  “Took a wrong turn at Albuquerque,” he said, before explaining the truth, his theory of twisted magnetic lines and how close they had come to Armageddon. “The wave still affected the world,” he said. “The three stones and whatever energy was created from the shard Yuri carried had acted to dampen it and channel the excess, but there were blackouts all over the country and across the Pacific, from Kamchatka to Mumbai. It would have been far, far worse had we not succeeded.”

  “Were we really that close to war?”

  “The fact that most satellites were spared kept it from happening,” Moore told her. “The president used the hotline; he was able to convince them that wave was a natural occurrence, but I don’t think it would have worked if they could not look down on us and be sure we weren’t launching missiles.”

  “The children will not learn,” she said. “Maybe we’ll learn now.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “What happens next?”

  Moore brightened. “Well, for one thing, your intrepid chief might get an award of some kind, maybe even a Nobel Prize for his revolutionary new theory on the workings of earth’s magnetic field. What do you think sounds better: ‘Moore’s theorem’? or the ‘Arnold axiom’?”

  “Go with the first one,” she said smiling.

  “Noted.”

  “I want to get out of here,” she told him.

  “Of course you do,” he said. “Someone’s coming to see you first. And I figured you’d want something proper to wear when you meet the president of the United States.” He offered her a tote bag filled with clothes from her home.

  She took the bag eagerly and started pawing through it. She couldn’t have been more excited if it were filled with gold.

  He turned.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find McCarter and relieve him of his temporary status and then to see Hawker. It’s a long story but I still have a rather large check to write him.”

  She shook her head. “He’ll never take it,” she said.

  “He earned it.”

  “I’ll go half with you. It was my butt getting rescued.”

  Moore nodded.

  “Something good better be happening for him,” she said sternly.

  “It’s in the works” was all he would say. He ducked out the door.

  Danielle turned her attention to the tote bag and examined the selection of clothing. Moore had chosen surprisingly well.

  * * *

  After four days in the hospital, Hawker was getting used to it. He liked pressing the button and asking for new pillows or more ice water or another serving of whatever it was they’d been feeding him. He didn’t know why so many people complained about hospital food. So far he liked it. And besides, it was great to have things brought by.

  On her fifteenth trip to his room, the nurse scowled at him.

  “What else do you have to do?” he said.

  “Plenty,” she said, shoving a bottle of water at him.

  “Here,” she added, offering him papers and a clipboard. “You’re being discharged. You’re to meet Mr. Moore in the conference room.”

  Five minutes later, Hawker walked past a group of guards that looked like Secret Service agents. He stepped into the room to find McCarter and Danielle. They embraced, reunited at last.

  �
��What’s going on?” Hawker asked.

  “President’s coming,” Danielle told him.

  “Do we like him?” Hawker asked.

  “What do you mean?” McCarter said.

  “I’ve been gone for a while. I haven’t voted for anyone since Perot in 2000,” he said.

  “Perot didn’t run in 2000,” Danielle said.

  “I wrote him in,” Hawker said. “Bush, Gore?” He shook his head and shivered as if the chills had just come over him.

  A moment later the door of the conference room opened and a pair of Secret Service agents entered. The president followed, accompanied by Arnold Moore and Byron Stecker.

  The three patients stood at this unexpected arrival.

  “Sit down,” the president said, as he himself took a seat.

  Hawker noticed that Moore’s face seemed to bear some healing abrasions and other wounds and his gait included a pronounced limp. Despite that he seemed a hell of a lot happier than Stecker.

  President Henderson offered his thanks, and the thanks of the nation. He explained the story that was being released in bits and pieces.

  “We’re telling the world that a joint effort between the United States, Mexico, Russia, and China has averted this catastrophe. Of course, the ranks of the conspiracy theorists are running wild with the occurrence and its perfect coincidence with the Mayan prophecy, but we are reporting that this system was designed eleven years ago, during a solar flare event that had similar, if less pronounced effects, and that it was only a fluke that the event occurred on December twenty-first.”

  “I’m guessing that very few are buying that,” McCarter offered.

  The president shrugged. “Conspiracy theories are a growth industry. I’m just glad they don’t need a bailout.”

  McCarter laughed. “It would be appropriate if we could find a way to credit the Mayan people, their religion. They kept this legend alive for thousands of years. In the face of all they’ve been through since the Europeans reached the Americas, they maintained their beliefs and that was the key.”