ICE GENESIS

by Kevin Tinto

  If Jack’s sat phones had been disabled intentionally, whoever was behind it had left the Stateside satellite phones working. That made sense if Wheeler was pulling the strings. A good way to eliminate Jack Hobson but not raise hell in Washington.

  He’d ordered up a helicopter to fly Ridley from Camp David to Westchester. He told Ridley to have the mechanics still holed up in the Aspen Lodge to maintain a low visibility status—and if they had those shotguns they’d taken off the skeet range, have them handy. His helo order had gone through without a problem. Wheeler seemed to be playing carefully with Paulson.

  Paulson had ninety-nine problems, and sleep was pretty much at the bottom of the list, for now. Most pressing: Jack Hobson stuck in western Iran with no way out. Even though he was under the protection of Hawar, news spread fast within tribal communities.

  The missing Cessna and missing Luke Derringer was also a concern, but given Jack’s situation he had to hope that Luke had flown the coop and was holed up out at some log cabin sitting next to a long stretch of hardened desert he’d used as a runway.

  It was only a matter of time, perhaps even hours, before it become common knowledge a westerner was hunkered down in Kurdistan. A million dollars in that region bought a lot of weapons and power. It was just a question of time, and nationality, to see who’d drop a dime in order to win the warlord lotto.

  His other problem was Wheeler. Had he ordered the murder of Fischer? Why? It made no sense. Leaving a dirty crime scene was sloppy and reckless.

  It seemed more logical that someone else was behind this. Perhaps the messy murder scene was planned, a way to be rid of Wheeler in such a way that it created mass confusion and opened the door to a wide range of political and constitutional crises.

  Some sort of coup? he asked himself. Really?

  If this were the case, it had to be military-driven. The Hafnium warhead would have marginal value with the military. These boys had millions of megatons available elsewhere.

  Hell, for all Paulson knew, he might be approached to participate in this coup, using his sway over the politicians who opposed Wheeler. In that case, the conspirators would be way too busy to worry about Leah at the Settlement.

  The Hafnium warhead only worked as long as everyone agreed to play by the rules. Once Fischer was tortured and murdered—someone had already set off the equivalent of a political nuclear weapon.

  Paulson pressed a speed dial number for Teresa Simpson’s private cell after glancing at his Breitling. After two in the morning—and the day had yet to get started.

  “Hello?” she said sleepily. The burner wouldn’t come up with any identification. Only Karen had all his numbers set up in her systems. “Teresa—It’s Al.”

  “Al? Why are you calling me using a phone without a—” She’d figured it out fast. “Look, our situation had gone bad,” he said. “I’m going to take a risk, hoping your own phone isn’t under surveillance. If so—if can’t be helped.” Paulson gave Teresa a sanitized version of finding Fischer and a bullet-point list on what he thought could be happening, from Wheeler going over the edge to a coup d'état.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “This is a tough one, T. My advice would be to get out of Washington. Find some cabin out in the backwoods of Maryland and stay out of sight. Kill your phones, stay off the internet—you know the drill.”

  The phone line went quiet for a moment. Then Teresa responded, “You said Wheeler was acting odd last time you saw him. Out of character. I think the best course of action is for me to sit in on any White House meetings as your deputy tomorrow. As far as I know, you’re off to see Gordon for an update, if anyone asks. Nothing can happen to me at the White House, and being there might give me a feel for what’s happening. When you get back with Jack, we can team up and figure out how to ride this out—one way or another.”

  Paulson could not dissuade her from her plan. The former BLM chief was damn near as stubborn as Leah. Finally, he agreed, on the condition that she not return home at night. “Stay over at a friend’s house. Make up any excuse, but don’t tell anyone where you’ll be. Oh, and Teresa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You have a handgun at home, by any chance?”

  “Sure”, she said. “Unregistered. The only way they get that baby is prying it from my cold dead hands.”

  “Strap it,” Paulson said. “But you’re African American with a concealed weapon in DC, so don’t get pulled over. Christ—I’ll never get you out of jail, if that happens.”

  Teresa chuckled. “Truer words….” she said and signed off.

  Paulson ordered up another pot of coffee, then studied the aviation charts that he’d laid out on a conference table. The charts covered the Atlantic Ocean, the Med, and most of the Middle East.

  Assuming this abandoned airfield in the northwestern corner of Iran was still uninhabited and the runways still solid enough to land and take off, he faced other challenges. The runway had to be clear of rubble. All it would take to strand them in Iran would be a punctured tire, or, worse, debris in the turbine, creating a multi-million-dollar yard sale when the blades, spinning north of ten-thousand RPMs, exploded into thousands of shards hurling out at super-sonic speeds.

  Paulson sighed and rubbed his eyes with both hands.

  He had to get into and out of Iran, refuel, and get home.

  He needed a plan and he needed it fast….

  Chapter 58

  Leah told the pilot to make a standard approach into Holloman. One thing on her side were the orders the Base Commander, Colonel Kelleher, had been given.

  There is a classified operation (Top Secret—National Security) near Holloman Air Force Base. Unless notified otherwise, expect to host inbound and outbound air assets attached to this operation. Two interconnected aircraft hangars will be tasked to this operation, indefinitely. The hangars are off-limits to all base personnel. Discussion, theory, supposition, and rumor about this operation is strongly discouraged. Consider information attached to this operation: Sensitive and Compartmentalized.

  The two hangars had been codenamed Dragon One and Dragon Two. Leah had rolled her eyes when she heard the code names. Now, she told the pilot, “Have the Chinook towed into Dragon Two,” she said. Dragon One was where Gordon had set up his small medical city; Dragon Two was empty, used mostly for storing supplies and providing classified access and egress.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the pilot replied, anxiety evident in his voice. No one wanted to be next to earn their wings Leah Andrews-style.

  Leah leaned over the pilot. “Has the Delta Platoon checked in?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They’re pissed off. We haven’t returned any of the radio traffic.”

  “Good job. I don’t want to have to drop that ramp again. It gets cold inside with all the heat blown out the back.” That’s all she had to say, because the pilots looked straight ahead and nodded stiffly in reply.

  She’d planned to personally cut Gordon’s throat, should she get ahold of him—thinking he’d been the rat who’d sold them out. Thanks to the mercenaries, she’d found out otherwise. With K’aalógii suffering epileptic-like seizures, she needed someone she could, trust and count on. Jack was lost in Turkey and her closest Ancient confidant, someone she’d come to lean on heavily, Garrett Moon, was dead.

  ✽✽✽

  The approach into Holloman proceeded without a snag, the Chinook towed into the hangar. Before she ordered the ramp lowered, Leah picked up the assault rifle belonging to Krause, the same one she’d used to empty a magazine into the Black Hawk, before leaving the meadow. She fished around inside the ammo bag and pulled out a loaded magazine, then walked over to where Hutchinson sat against the fuselage, still wearing his plastic restraints.

  “You know what this is?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hutchinson said. “Heckler and Koch MP5.”

  “It’s empty. How do I reload it?”

  Hutchinson glanced over at Cruz, not looking too happ
y.

  “C’mon, Captain. If I wanted you dead, I’d have tossed you out.”

  Hutchinson said, “Pull back on the charging handle on the front of the weapon. Pull out the empty magazine, push a loaded magazine in, release the charging handle. It’s ready to shoot. You might want to push the small lever up, so the weapon is on ‘safe’ first.”

  Leah pulled the charging handle back, used her fingers to release the empty magazine, slid a full magazine in and released the charging handle so that it slid forward. “That’s it?” she asked.

  “The safety is off—push the lever up.”

  Leah ignored Hutchinson and then leaned into the cockpit. “Lower the ramp.” She looked for Appanoose. He sat on the webbing without expression. He simply nodded at Leah but didn’t move. This is your show, the nod said.

  Leah drew a breath, pulled the HK up into firing position, and walked down the ramp. The only person standing inside the hangar was Gordon, who looked the worse for wear.

  “Sorry for waking you up, Gordo. As you can guess, our whole Settlement idea has gone to hell in a handbasket. I have the Ancients.” She had to stop and force herself from not letting go, crying right on the spot. “Garrett and Marko. Both dead.”

  For a moment, Gordon did a fish-pulled-up-from-depth imitation. His eyes looked like they were bulging, and his mouth opened and closed. He paled visibility.

  “Look Gordo. We have plenty of time to sit down and ball our eyes out over a bottle of Jimmy Beam. Right now, we’ve got to focus.”

  All Gordon could manage was, “You have the Ancients? Are they safe?”

  Leah nodded. “I don’t know for how long. We’re pretty much trapped here at Holloman.”

  He shook his head, still partially dazed. “I always wondered, if we were visited by extraterrestrials, what the outcome would be. As it turns out, we’re the real monsters.”

  “Don’t cut them too much slack, Gordo. Remember why we’re in this situation.” She pointed the assault rifle toward the Chinook. “Although K’aalógii is resting comfortably, she needs medical attention. She suffered some kind of seizure on the Chinook on our approach to Holloman. Appanoose was able to soothe her and she’s sleeping now. I know the helicopter ride, and everything that has gone down tonight has been stressful, but I’m pretty sure this has more to do with the physiological changes. Sorry I’ve been out of touch,” Leah added. “My past few days have been—out of the ordinary is all I can say right now.”

  “Take me to her,” Gordon said.

  Leah led Gordon up the Chinook ramp. K’aalógii lay on the aluminum floor, covered with blankets. He leaned down and examined her for a minute.

  “Her heart rate is accelerated. Appears she’s running a fever, but hard to know exactly what her normal temp should be.”

  “Could it be stress?” Leah asked.

  “Stress could make her metabolic anomalies symptomatic,” Gordon said. “You asked me what we discovered while having Ms. K’aalógii as our very helpful guest. Their metabolic deviations are accelerating. Almost as if they are being re-engineered to thrive in a different biosphere.”

  Leah thought back to the vision quest—and what she’d experienced. “Would this biosphere include a thin atmosphere, cold temperatures and steep, mountainous terrain?”

  Gordon stopped the examination. “Exactly. A substantial increase in red blood cell counts, increasing lung capacity, larger, more powerful heart, with elevated rate, hyper-metabolism, body temperature intensification, skin thickening, accumulative muscle mass. How did you know?”

  Not the best time to recount about my lodge ‘trip.’

  Instead, she asked, “Could our atmosphere become toxic to someone undergoing these—modifications?”

  “Impossible to say. We are in uncharted waters, medically.”

  “Can you slow this down?”

  “Unknown,” Gordo said. “However, if stress triggered the symptoms, a strong sedative may reverse them, temporarily.”

  Appanoose walked over to Gordon, looking him up and down, and not in a manner that put the doctor at ease. The shaman made it obvious he remembered Gordon from their removal from stasis—and the awkward, initial medical testing that had taken place soon thereafter.

  After making Gordon suitably uncomfortable, Appanoose turned toward Leah. He crouched and lightly touched K’aalógii on the forehead.

  He said one word: “Ashchʼąh.”

  “What did he say?” Gordon asked.

  “A state of sleep from which one may not wake up. A more modern translation would be: coma.”

  “Miss K’aalógii is not in a coma,” Gordon said.

  Leah turned to Appanoose. “Ałhosh’ as’ahgóó?”

  He offered a single head shake.

  “I asked him if she needed a long sleep. You saw his reaction. A definite no.”

  “What’s the difference?” Gordon asked.

  “C’mon Gordo. You know better than anyone, the difference between a long sleep and a coma. You don’t wake from a coma.”

  Appanoose spoke again, this time with more urgency. He raised both hands toward the top of the Chinook fuselage and looked up as he spoke.

  “Sǫʼ shikʼéí “Ashchʼąh.”

  “Oh my god,” Leah said. “I get it. He’s saying she needs the long sleep from which you don’t wake. The sleep provided by the ‘Star People.'"

  “The stasis units,” Gordon said. “By disconnecting them from the stasis units, perhaps we inadvertently initiated a biological time bomb.” His eyes opened wide, as if he’d just had an epiphany. “What if the Ancients were never supposed to awaken on Earth? What if they were adapted to live on some other world, with an eco-system conducive to these metabolic and physiological modifications?”

  Leah nodded. The good doctor had put his finger on it precisely—and without needing to hear about her visions of the same. She felt fatigue pulling her toward the deck of the Chinook. She sucked in a breath, steadied herself. “Good thinking, Gordo. Now tell me something I don’t know.”

  Chapter 59

  “What’s the status of the stasis units?” Leah asked.

  Gordon shook his head. “Non-functional, I’m afraid. One by one, they all shut down, the last one just days, after the Ancients were extracted. We only have one of the units here; the rest were shipped out to Dr. Gupta at DARPA. Apparently, they were able to do some research prior to the final unit shutting down. But even if we could insert Ms. K’aalógii into a functioning stasis unit, I think it’s simplistic and unrealistic to think it would arrest her new physiological processes. For all we know, the units were tailored specifically to each Ancient.”

  Leah whispered to Appanoose. He gave one sharp head nod in the affirmative. Then she knelt and stroked K’aalógii’s hair.

  “I’ll be the first to admit it’s a long shot, Gordo. But I know where we’ll find more stasis units—operating stasis units.”

  “Jack found another complex?”

  “Not as far as I know. The ones I’m talking about are in Antarctica. Somewhere near the South Pole. They’re contained within two inter-connected complexes large enough to make the one we found look like a dinghy next to a supertanker.”

  Gordo’s mouth hung open. “Wait. How do you know about this other complex?”

  Leah stood and replied matter-of-factly, “In a sweat-lodge vision-quest, high as a kite on the shaman’s personal stash of peyote.”

  Gordon looked even more shocked, but Leah didn’t pause “We’re taking a long trip, Gordo. I need you to source enough flight suits and cold weather gear to outfit all the Ancients. Can you sedate K’aalógii?”

  Gordon nodded. “I’ll arrange to have her put under with Propofol. We can check and see if that alleviates the symptoms and maintains her vitals in a safe range.”

  Leah held up a hand. “Isn’t that the stuff that killed Michael Jackson?”

  “It is…but I guarantee we only administer the thriller dose, not the killer.” Gordo shrugged and o
ffered his best semblance of a grin.

  “You’re learning from Jack I see.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Gallows humor, Gordo. It’s what’s gonna get us through this.”

  She whispered to Appanoose, who gave a single nod.

  “Appanoose will help you get the Ancients off the Chinook,” she told Gordon. “They’ll need to use the bathrooms. Show him where; he’ll instruct the others.”

  “Ah...what about the ladies?”

  “You’ve got women working in there, Gordo. Get a couple of them and figure it out.” Leah wasn’t finished. “These people eat nonstop. Probably starving by now. Get your dining facility cooking up corn and beans, and more of that chicken noodle soup. No jalapeno. And no Hostess Cupcakes—got that?”

  Gordon nodded.

  A wave of emotion flooded through Leah. She had to pause, and wipe tears off her cheek. “One other thing. Can you get a couple of your people to escort Marko and Garrett to your…morgue?”

  Gordon paused, closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders drooped. He regained his composure, and nodded, pulling strength from Leah herself, it appeared.

  “Dr. Andrews?”

  Leah spun around. The Black Hawk crew still sat against the bulkhead, restrained with plasticuffs. The Chinook pilots sat in the cockpit. All eyes were on her.

  Hutchinson said, “What happens with us?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” she responded, honestly.

  She signaled to Appanoose and whispered to him in Navajo. He replied with one sharp head nod. Then he went forward to the cockpit and pulled the command pilot out of the Chinook cockpit, sat him down next to the Black Hawk pilots.

  Leah fished around for more plastic restraints. She nodded again to Appanoose. He yanked the co-pilot out of the cockpit and Leah repeated the plasticuff procedure with both men and the loadmaster as well.

  Once done, she said, “You sit tight—and make no trouble for me. Got it?” The helicopter crews nodded in unison. “Wait,” she said. She told Appanoose to cut Hutchinson free. “You’re coming with me.”