Close Up the Sky

by James L. Ferrell

  Instead of speaking, he just stared back at her with a thoughtful expression. After a few seconds he leaned forward, forearms on knees, hands clasped, and mentally reviewed the day’s events. First, the surprise visit from the NSA operatives who had given him almost no information about the nature of the assignment to which he was currently en route. Second, the one-way ticket to Albuquerque; just a stopping-off place for his ultimate destination: The mysterious Apache Point. Third, being met at the airport by one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in real life, and a police detective seemingly unconnected with whatever was going on. Now, a flight across the desert in a helicopter gunship complete with armed Marines. A hundred unanswered questions had already formed in his mind and he wanted answers.

  At this point, one of the most pressing question marks was the girl sitting beside him who claimed to be a linguist. There was nothing unusual about that, but her knowledge of archaeology indicated that she was something more than just a linguist. Certainly, her knowledge of Egypt was more than just casual. In any event, why would a government research facility need a linguist? For that matter, why would they need a policeman? She had given him her interpretation of the hieroglyphics, but he did not accept it at face value. Limited though his knowledge was, he sensed there was more to the inscription than she had revealed. For one thing there were too many characters for so short a message. He remembered from reading about hieroglyphics that one symbol could convey a complete idea, and there were at least a dozen of them on the scarf. He refused to believe that she would deliberately lie to him, which was consistent with the feelings he was developing for her, and he was not prepared to accept any flaw in her character. Then there was the matter of the brooch. He had dealt with enough stolen and recovered jewelry to know that it was genuine gold, not just a costume ornament. Such an antique would cost many thousands of dollars, if it could be purchased at all. She said it was a gift from someone she knew long ago. If that was so, she had been keeping company with someone who moved in very expensive circles. That thought annoyed him to some degree.

  “What do you think of it?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “It’s beautiful. I never thought much about it, but the ancient Egyptians must have been very much like people are today. It seems strange to think of someone who lived three thousand years ago having the same dreams and hopes as I do. It must be exciting to be a part of all that; to actually see and touch things created by artists and craftsmen who lived so long ago.”

  “Yes, it is,” she answered with a tinge of excitement in her voice. “It’s even better when someone shares your feelings about it.” His sensitivity impressed her and she felt herself liking him even more.

  They had been engrossed in their conversation and neither of them noticed the interior of the helicopter growing darker until the overhead lights came on. Leahy looked over his shoulder at the landscape visible through the window. The sun was almost down, leaving the desert awash in deep orange light. They seemed to be flying only a few hundred feet above the ground. Scrub brush and sand raced by in a blur of brown, green, and white. He turned back to Taylor.

  “I took a look at a map of New Mexico before leaving Atlanta. I couldn’t find Apache Point anywhere on it. How far is it from Albuquerque?”

  She was relieved that the conversation was taking a turn. “An hour by helicopter, plus or minus a few minutes. I always think of it in terms of time rather than distance. It’s hard to judge miles when you always fly. Distance seems to be…”

  They caught their breath, as without warning, the helicopter banked hard to the right and plunged toward the ground at stomach-wrenching speed.

  Chapter 4

  The sudden maneuver forced a little gasp from Taylor and made her eyes bulge. Leahy clamped his hand over hers and clenched his teeth. After the deck leveled, the Marine who had been standing between the two pilots came back and strapped himself into the chair behind the minigun.

  “What happened? Why are we turning?” Taylor demanded.

  “Nothing to worry about Miss Griffin,” he assured her. “We’ve been temporarily diverted to assist another unit. It won’t take long.”

  “What kind of assistance? We have instructions to take Mr. Leahy directly to Apache Point.”

  “I think just some trespassers,” the Marine responded. “I’m sorry, Miss Griffin, but the orders came directly from Bird Dog. We don’t have the authority to ignore them.”

  Her reaction was defiant. “We’ll see about that!” She started to unbuckle her seat belt, but the chopper made another sharp turn forcing her to grab the bench instead.

  “Please stay buckled-in, Miss Griffin,” the Marine warned. “We might be making some sharp turns in the next few minutes.” He flipped up a latch and slid the door open.

  Desert air rushed in with a fury, blowing their hair and filling the helicopter with a maelstrom of wind and noise. Leahy had a panoramic view of the ground as it raced by. The sensation was both exhilarating and frightening. He hated heights, and less than eight feet away was an abyss five hundred feet deep. He grabbed the back edge of the bench with both hands. A tingling sensation ran through his groin, and his knuckles turned white from the pressure of his grip. He clenched his teeth and looked at the Marine, who had his head stuck out the door looking forward. It was still light enough to see objects on the ground without using lights, and he saw a string of gray mountains in the distance, their jagged peaks showing a tinge of red sunset. A flicker of movement in the air just forward of the doorway caught his attention. In spite of his acrophobia he leaned forward to get a better look. The view amplified the sensation in his groin, and he fought back panic. Another helicopter was just ahead, and within a few seconds they came alongside it. The door of the other ship was also open and he could see two men in fatigues and flight helmets standing in the opening. One of them made a thumbs-up gesture then held up three fingers. The Marine in their own helicopter returned the signal, then leaned out the door and concentrated on the ground ahead. Leahy leaned forward as far as he dared, but could see nothing. He looked questioningly at Taylor.

  She shook her head and shrugged. “It’s a perimeter security violation,” she shouted over the noise. “Someone must have gotten inside the ten-mile security radius of the facility.”

  Leahy nodded and said, “Does this happen often?”

  “I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve been involved in a security alert. It’s strictly a military function. They patrol the area with helicopters twenty-four hours a day to make sure no one gets inside the perimeter. I’ve heard that a sightseer or desert buff occasionally gets too close and has to be warned away. Apache Point occupies too much land to fence in except for the main buildings, so they use the helicopters.”

  Their pilot made another sharp turn, and Leahy lost sight of the other chopper. The landscape below indicated that they were reducing speed and altitude. The Marine behind the gun squeezed the small mic at his throat and said something inaudible. The aircraft tilted slightly toward the open doorway. Through it, Leahy could see what looked like a dune buggy occupied by two men and a woman moving over the ground at breakneck speed.

  The other helicopter became visible again, and both aircraft matched speed with the dune buggy, one on either side. They were less than fifty feet off the ground now. The people in the vehicle were all looking up, men in front and the woman in back. The man on the passenger side wore a white cowboy hat which he was desperately trying to keep from blowing off his head. Leahy saw that the woman had blonde hair and was wearing shorts and halter-top. Both men were wearing jeans and cowboy shirts. The turbulence from the helicopter’s blades was creating a small sandstorm around them.

  A loudspeaker from the other chopper burst into life. “You are trespassing on federal property,” a voice roared. “This is a restricted area; you are ordered to immediately return the way you came. I repeat, this is a restricted area, you must leave immediately!”

  As the
choppers paced the vehicle, Leahy could see tire tracks leading from the south, obviously the direction from which the dune buggy had entered the reserve. The two urban cowboys looked at each other and appeared to be speaking. Then the passenger stood up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted something inaudible at the helicopters. The hat flew off his head and vanished behind them. The woman reached up and tried to pull him back into his seat, but he shook her off. He pointed to his crotch, looked up, and made an obscene gesture with the index finger of the other hand.

  The speaker blared again. “This is your final warning. Leave as directed or we will open fire!” In response, the driver jerked the vehicle into a higher gear and accelerated. Twin rooster tails of sand spewed up from its rear tires. Instead of turning around in compliance with the directive, the driver turned west, taking them deeper into the reservation.

  The choppers gave immediate pursuit. The Marine braced his foot against the metal track along the doorway and pulled the minigun into firing position. Fascinated, Leahy watched as they closed on the dune buggy. The people in the vehicle acted as though they were playing some stupid game by showing defiance to authority. He had seen the same type of adolescent foolishness when uniformed police officers attempted to maintain order at rock concerts and other events that attracted large numbers of teens and young adults. His years of experience had taught him that social defiance really meant nothing, and best ignored when feasible. Most of the rowdy ones knew how far they could push the police, and usually no one got hurt. However, there was no comparison between this situation and social defiance. These Marines were not police officers, and the game had become deadly.

  The other helicopter pulled ahead of them, flying slightly in front and to the side of the racing dune buggy. Their own chopper made a wide sweep to the opposite side and took an off-center position at the rear. Leahy had a perfect view of the vehicle. He estimated its speed at better than sixty miles per hour, an insane velocity for such uneven terrain. One miscalculation by the driver and everyone could be killed. The two passengers gripped the roll bar as the driver twisted and turned, trying to steer the little vehicle around mounds of sand and brush.

  “Stop immediately!” commanded the voice over the loudspeaker. The driver ignored the warning and jerked the steering wheel to the left. The maneuver caused the lead chopper to lose its position. The pilot of Leahy’s ship responded instantly to the sudden turn. He dropped the nose of the helicopter and rolled hard to the side, maintaining their position at the rear of the vehicle. The other ship recovered and pulled back alongside. Both helicopters were now on opposite sides of the vehicle, doorways facing each other. Leahy watched the Marine in the other ship train his gun on the vehicle. Stop, you damn fools! he wanted to scream at them, knowing it was already too late. Yellow fire erupted from the muzzle of the minigun as hundreds of rounds rained down in front of the vehicle. Sand and pulverized brush flew into the air where the bullets struck. The girl grabbed the driver by the shirt and began pounding him on the shoulder. Leahy did not need to hear her voice to know she was screaming. The driver twisted the wheel over and the vehicle spun halfway around. When he straightened, they were heading back the way they had come. The choppers banked simultaneously, flanking the little car. The male passenger grabbed the roll bar and stood up. He looked up at the choppers and began waving his free arm, but this time it was not a taunt. He was indicating that they were leaving as instructed. When no more gunfire came, he dropped back into the seat and shouted something at the driver, who nodded vigorously and reduced speed.

  The speaker blasted one last instruction for them to proceed to the reservation perimeter where police would be waiting for them. The voice warned them not to stop or divert from their direction of travel. The driver signaled that he understood and would comply. Having succeeded in turning the vehicle in the direction they wanted it to go, both helicopters pulled away and gained altitude. The Marine gunners waved to each other and gave thumbs-up.

  The entire episode had lasted less than three minutes, but to Leahy it seemed much longer. The sun was now completely below the horizon, and the other chopper turned on its searchlight. A twenty-foot circle of brilliant white light illuminated the dune buggy. The guard in their ship moved his gun back to its original position and closed the door. The torrent of wind stopped, but Leahy felt cold in spite of it. He became aware that he had been clenching his teeth almost to the point of pain.

  “We’re returning to our course now, Miss Griffin,” the Marine said. “The other chopper will handle it from here. Sorry about the delay.”

  Leahy, having been totally absorbed in the chase, glanced at Taylor for the first time since it began. Her hair, which had been so neatly arranged, had been blown into a haystack. Her cheeks were tinged red, but whether from the cold or just plain fury, he could not tell. He started to laugh, but the ill-tempered look on her face discouraged any attempt at levity. She brushed a strand of hair away from her face and glared at the Marine.

  “How much longer to the base?” she asked between clenched teeth.

  “About ten minutes, Ma'am,” he responded. He got up and started toward the cockpit.

  Leahy called out to him, “What about the dune buggy? What happens to those young idiots now?”

  The Marine shrugged and said, “The other ship will follow them back to the highway. The local police have been notified and will be waiting to pick them up. After that, the FBI will probably question them about why they were on the reservation in the first place. If there’s no security problem, I imagine they’ll let them go with a warning. It’s routine.” He said it as though such incidents occurred on a daily basis.

  “Thank you, Corporal,” said Leahy. The Marine nodded and moved away, resuming his position behind the two pilots.

  Leahy’s thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Feldon and Summerhour. They had said the facility was heavily guarded, but the action he had just witnessed seemed extreme even for the military. He had no doubt that if the people in the dune buggy had not turned away after the warning barrage of gunfire, the Marines would not have hesitated to shoot them. Apache Point was going to be protected, no matter the consequences.

  He turned back to Taylor, who was in the process of regaining control of her appearance and humor. She shoved her comb back into her purse and smiled mischievously. “Nothing like a little fight to start the evening off right,” she said.

  In spite of the disarming comment, Leahy could tell she was still upset. The incident had obviously disturbed her beyond what she was showing.

  “Is that standard procedure? I mean does this happen every time someone wanders inside the security zone?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.” She paused as though in thought, then said, “At least not most of the time anyway. You have to keep in mind that Apache Point is a top-secret facility, and the military has orders to use whatever means they think are necessary to keep trespassers out. If those ‘young idiots,’ as you put it, had just done as they were told, there wouldn’t have been any trouble.” She paused and looked at him, her expression turning serious. “You’ll understand why the security is so intense after we meet with Dr. Durant.”

  They were silent for a while, then the pilot called out over the speaker, “Apache Point ahead, Miss Griffin.”

  Leahy looked out the window behind him, but the angle was too sharp to see anything except the glow of distant lights. It was completely dark outside, so he was unable to ascertain their altitude. He continued his vigilance, waiting to catch his first glimpse of the mysterious research facility. “Excuse me, Matt,” said Taylor. She rose and went to the cockpit, spoke briefly with the pilot, then returned to her seat. The Marine who had manned the gun followed her back and slid the door open. Since their speed had diminished significantly, there was no burst of cold air, but it was still chilly.

  The helicopter banked gently to the right then leveled off. From outside, a pale radiance crept into the cabin. As
the angle between the aircraft and the facility widened, a double row of amber lights became visible on the ground. They stretched away toward the horizon, forming a wide curve. As they drew closer, Leahy observed that the lights were mounted on posts attached to chain-link fences about fifty feet apart and ten feet high. The fences formed an enormous circle almost a quarter of a mile in diameter. In addition to the fence lighting, mercury vapor lights sat on tall poles at intervals of about two hundred feet along the entire perimeter of the complex. The bright lights illuminated the area between the fences, where a patrol vehicle moved slowly along. Spotlights mounted on the vehicle’s roof lit up the shadows that the overhead lights failed to reach. As the chopper passed, Leahy noted that the two men in the vehicle wore uniforms of some type. In spite of the helicopter’s close proximity, neither of them looked up.

  The pilot turned off the chopper’s interior lights, increasing outside visibility. As they continued their flight around the facility, a huge power plant came into view. Row after row of heavy transformers were located inside a separately fenced area. A two-story brick building that Leahy suspected was the control center for the power plant stood near the transformers. A smaller building surrounded by spherical fuel tanks, each about fifty feet in diameter, was located nearby. A network of pipes and runways connected the tanks to the building. Light spilled from several windows, indicating that even at this hour people were at work monitoring the devices that controlled the plant. As they passed along the edge of the complex he sensed tremendous electrical power being generated by unseen turbines.