Close Up the Sky

by James L. Ferrell

  Another suspicious item was all the equipment and personnel that had been landed from the transports. The Sidney James had unloaded enough gasoline, steel sheeting, pipes, and mechanized equipment to build a small city. Yet no one knew what was going on upriver except the officers, and they all had a bad case of tight lip.

  Hull and many of his shipmates also pondered another phenomenon. Six months ago, during a bad storm, the captain had suddenly ordered general quarters. After the hatches had been closed and dogged, the ship had heeled hard over. Less than a minute later, the storm had abated and they were sailing in calm waters again. Some of the crewmen in CIC said they had almost rammed the Sidney James, yet when the hatches were reopened, the other ship was sailing along beside them. No one had been able to offer an explanation for that little maneuver, and if anyone mentioned it the officers bit his head off. But the most suspicious thing of all was the arrival of the submarine. Hull had seen his share of subs, but he had never seen one cruising on the surface in foreign waters in broad daylight. Three days ago it had steamed into their anchorage and disembarked half a dozen men in civilian clothes. The sub's skipper and the civilians had come aboard the Talon and gone directly to Captain Lloyd's conference room where they remained for the rest of the day. A couple of them, a white-haired old man and a chubby guy with red hair, were still aboard.

  The fact that they were civilians had caused a lot of buzz among the crew, but nobody had been able to find out anything. In fact, Hull and the rest of the crew were not even aware of where they were, and for some reason the Talon's navigation equipment would not operate here. His buddies in the plotting room were unable to provide any information concerning what part of the world they were in. It was undoubtedly the strangest cruise he had ever been on. It was all damned unusual, and Hull did not like it.

  He pulled his walkie-talkie from its holder on his belt and keyed the mike. "T-2 to T-1, over." He waited several seconds for a reply, but none came. "T-2 to T-1, over," he repeated the call. He was supposed to relieve Barry Pendergast, who was pulling the eight-hour morning shift. It was standard practice to meet your relief at the boat dock, but for some reason Pendergast had not shown up. He called on the radio twice more, but got nothing. It was apparent that Pendergast was either asleep or his radio was not working. Now he would have to climb the hill before he could relieve him. That would mean an hour and a half delay in Pendergast getting back to the Talon. Captain Lloyd did not like delays or snafus, so there would probably be hell to pay for this. Hull hoped the captain would not become so concerned that he would launch one of the choppers to come looking for them. That would really mean trouble. He slung the M-14 over his shoulder and started up the hill.

  It was early afternoon and burning hot. Sweat poured down his chest and soaked his shirt. The climb was the only thing he hated about sentry duty. He took out his canteen and sipped a few swallows. He was tempted to take another pull on the whiskey bottle but decided to wait until he had relieved Pendergast. It was going to be a long afternoon and he might need it for later. Hull climbed along the trail that he and the other sailors had made over the months by constant passage up and down the hill. There were certain reference points along the way, and he could tell by looking at them that he was about halfway up. He continued climbing, sweat pouring off him in rivulets. Twenty minutes later he spotted Pendergast's body lying in some rocks off to one side of the path.

  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" he blurted out. He dropped into a defensive crouch and unslung the M-14. He scanned the immediate area, and seeing no threat, stooped down to examine Pendergast. Blood oozed from several gashes on his face, and one leg was twisted beneath him at a sickening angle. From the looks of his clothes it appeared that he must have crawled this far down the hill before passing out. He felt for a pulse and got a weak one. He was alive, but just barely. Pendergast emitted a low moan and coughed feebly.

  Hull snatched the radio off his belt. "Don't worry, pal. You'll be okay. I'm gonna get you out of here right now!" He keyed the mike and shouted into it, "T-2 to Talon, T-2 to Talon. Mayday! Mayday!" He was breathing hard and sweating profusely.

  The sound of gunfire from the top of the hill caused him to freeze.

  “What the hell,” he muttered. The crest was about five hundred feet away. He raised the M-14 and peered through the scope. His eyes bulged from their sockets when he saw a man and woman wearing black clothes leap headfirst over the summit and land on their stomachs.

  Matt felt sharp rocks gouge his chest and abdomen as he hit the ground. The impact tore Taylor's hand from his grasp and she slid away from him. He caught a glimpse of movement from downhill out the corner of his eye, but Williams was on them before he could make it out. He rolled over and tried to get up but slipped and fell onto his back again. He saw Taylor propped up on one hip near him, both palms on the ground.

  Williams glowered down at them. "I told you it was no use, Matt! But I guess you had to try." He brought the pistol up in a two-handed grip and aimed at Taylor's forehead. "I'm sorry, Taylor, but I have to do this." His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Matt arched his back and tried to kick Williams in the shin, but slid backward in the rocky soil. "No!" he screamed. He saw Taylor lift her chin and glare defiantly at Williams.

  Then the world went into slow motion. He saw Williams's head jerk spasmodically as a dark red spot suddenly appeared on his forehead. At the same instant the back of his skull exploded outward, spewing bone, brains, and blood across the ground. For what seemed an interminable time his body just stood there staring down at Taylor, still pointing the pistol at her. Then came a peal of thunder from a large caliber rifle and he fell backwards into his own gore.

  Time returned to normal speed. Matt jumped to his feet and rushed over to Taylor. He helped her to her feet. "You okay?"

  She ran her hands over her face, chest, and stomach. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. "I think so. Are you?"

  He nodded. They looked down at Williams's corpse. The handsome face was expressionless; he had felt no pain. The dark eyes stared unblinking at the white orb of the sun.

  They heard movement behind them and turned to see a man armed with a rifle climbing up the hill. He wore the dungarees and blue shirt of an American sailor. A couple of minutes later he reached them.

  "You folks all right?" he asked, out of breath.

  "Who are you, and where did you come from?" Matt managed to say.

  "Seaman First Class Roger Hull, sir." He jerked his head over his right shoulder. "That's my ship down there, the U.S.S. Talon."

  "Seaman Hull, you don't know how glad we are to see you!" Taylor said.

  "Yeah." He looked down at Williams. "Looks like I was just in time. This guy was gonna kill you, lady! Who are you people, anyway?"

  Taylor grabbed Matt's arm in alarm. "Mike and Edward!"

  They climbed back over the hilltop and ran to where Summerhour was lying on his stomach. Matt rolled him over. Williams's last shot had hit him in the jaw. It looked like the bullet had gone completely through and exited on the opposite side. The wound looked painful but not fatal. Summerhour opened his eyes and sat up. When he tried to speak, it sounded like a gurgle. He spat out a glob of blood and tooth fragments. "Wha th hell!" he mumbled.

  "Take it easy, Mike," Matt said. "He got you in the mouth, but it's not too serious. Looks like it went all the way through without breaking much more than a couple of teeth. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

  Summerhour put both hands to his jaws and held them. He spat more blood and said in a garbled voice, "Muh side hurts. Bullets mussa broke a rib." Then he noticed Hull squatting beside him. A surprised look came over his face.

  "This is Seaman First Class Hull," Matt said. "From one of the ships."

  Summerhour nodded. Hull grinned.

  They checked Edward and found him in the same state in which they had left him. "I guess we better try to patch Mike up while we wait," Matt said to Taylor. "I expect help will be here pre
tty fast now."

  True to his prediction, within minutes a U.S. Marine Corps helicopter bristling with guns popped over the hilltop. Hull spoke briefly into his radio as the pilot made a sharp circle around them, then settled the aircraft to the ground a hundred feet away. Several armed Marines jumped out and began securing the area. The officer in charge ran to where they were waiting and squatted beside them. He looked at each of them in turn, accessed the situation, and said, “I’d say you people need some help.”

  Next to Seaman Hull, he was the most beautiful sight they had seen in weeks.

  Matt and Taylor waited in the corridor outside the Sidney James's infirmary. The ship's surgeon had been working on Edward for over two hours. It was one of those rare times when Matt had the urge to smoke. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Taylor put her arms around him and hugged him. Neither of them spoke, they just stood in a warm comforting embrace, swaying from side to side. They parted when the door of the infirmary opened and Dr. Carl Ruiz, a slender man in his early fifties, stepped through.

  "He's going to be fine," Ruiz reported. "There was a pretty large skull splinter pressing against his brain. I also removed some lead fragments. It’s definitely a bullet wound. The pain had to be terrific. It's a miracle he was able to make it here at all. If you hadn't come along when you did, he probably wouldn't have lasted two more days."

  "Thank you, doctor. He's always been a pretty tough guy,” Matt said. “What about the sailor he attacked? Is he going to make it?"

  "Pendergast? He has a broken leg and some cuts from the fall he took when your brother jumped out at him, but nothing really serious. He was dehydrated from lying in the sun for such a long period, but he's young and resilient."

  "Mike Summerhour?"

  "The biggest problem with him is keeping his mouth closed. Right now I've got it packed with gauze. The entry and exit wounds should heal nicely in a few weeks, and some skilled plastic surgery will take care of the rest.”

  "Thanks, doc," Matt said. "We were really worried about both of them."

  "Not to worry, son," Ruiz replied. "You can see your brother for a few minutes if you like."

  "Thank you, sir. I'd like that very much."

  He and Taylor went into the infirmary. A young medic pointed to a curtain drawn around a bunk bed. Matt pulled the curtain back and saw his brother. An IV dripped slowly into a vein in the back of his right hand, and bandages covered the top of his head. His eyes were closed, but he opened them to a slit when Taylor sat down on the edge of the bunk. She stroked his free arm and kissed him on the cheek.

  "Hi, big guy," she said softly.

  He smiled. "Taylor," he said in a weak voice. "Matt?"

  "I'm here, Rocks."

  "Thought I was dreaming. Saw you on the hill?" The exertion of speaking caused a painful grimace to twist his features.

  "Yes. But maybe you should rest now. We can talk later."

  He managed to shake his head a little and said, "No. Need to tell you…,” but he was unable to complete the sentence. His eyes closed and he drifted off.

  "We'll be back, Rocks," Matt soothed. "Right now you just sleep." He looked at Taylor. "Let's go find Durant. It's time to speak of many things, the walrus said." They went out of the infirmary.

  Both of them were aware that Dr. Durant was aboard and had been waiting to see them, but Matt had refused to leave the infirmary until he knew Edward's condition. Taylor had backed him up and stayed at his side. A sailor who was waiting outside escorted them through a maze of corridors to the captain's conference room. It was a relatively large room for a ship, furnished with a long walnut table and ten matching chairs. Afternoon sunlight poured through two portholes with their green curtains parted.

  The first person they saw as they entered was Durant. He stood and waited for them to come in. Matt looked sharply at him. The old man's hands were shaking and the circles beneath his eyes had grown darker since they had last seen him. Both he and Taylor were shocked to see Ryan Pierce pouring coffee from a service tray located on a stand against the far wall. Three other men sat at the table. Two of them wore the uniforms of navy captains. The other one was thin to the point of gauntness. His hair was gray and he wore a blue golf shirt. His face was expressionless, but the sharp eyes had been examining them in detail from the instant they stepped into the room.

  "I thought you were going to keep us waiting all day!" Pierce blurted out. He put the coffee pot down and went around the table. He engulfed Taylor in a bear hug. "Hi, sweetie. You look beautiful as always." He stuck out his hand to Matt, who took it. "I'm really glad to see you, Matt. I was afraid we might be too late."

  "Ryan, what are you doing here?" Taylor asked, her expression was a study in puzzlement. "Or maybe I should ask, how." She glanced at Dr. Durant as she asked it.

  "Please. Sit down, both of you," Durant said. "There's a lot we need to talk about. But let me introduce you to these gentlemen. Captains Rudley and Lloyd, and Special Agent Emmett Ritchie, National Security Agency. The men rose at the introductions. Matt and Taylor pulled out chairs and sat down facing Durant across the table.

  When they were all seated, Durant spoke. "First let me apologize for deceiving the two of you. I hope you can forgive me, but it was absolutely necessary. It was a matter of national security of the highest level. I'm sure you'll understand when you've heard the whole story." He paused and began fishing through his tweed jacket for the inevitable pipe. "A lot has happened at Apache Point since you've been away. Things I wouldn't have believed possible."

  "We already know about Babylon Station," Matt said in a flat voice. "I was able to break the password on the encrypted file Edward attached to the report I was reading before we transported. It doesn't go into great detail, but the general facts are there."

  Ritchie opened a leather portfolio lying on the table in front of him and took out a writing pad and pen. "The password?"

  "Rocks," Matt answered.

  Ritchie wrote the answer on the pad. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

  "Before we go on, there's a question we'd like answered if you will," Matt said. "The Marine captain who came with us. As it turned out he was someone other than who he pretended to be. Who was he?"

  "His name was Akmedi Sureahl.” Ritchie answered. “A major in the Iranian army intelligence section. But we wouldn't have known that if it hadn't been for Sergeant Pierce."

  They looked at Ryan, and he gave them a little smile.

  "His department found the body of the real Captain Williams in a dumpster at the Albuquerque airport about the time you transported,” Ritchie continued. “Sureahl had apparently been following him based on instructions he had received from Dr. John Kasdan, who we recently learned was a self-appointed espionage agent connected to foreign interests in the Middle East. Sureahl murdered Williams at the airport and took his luggage. He then had Williams’s military ID card reproduced with his own photograph on it. Not a very difficult accomplishment in a city as large Albuquerque. To complete the ID transition, Kasdan later obtained Williams’s personnel file from Colonel Pope, Apache Point’s security chief."

  "My God," Taylor exclaimed. "Colonel Pope was involved in this?"

  "He wasn't," Ritchie responded. "But he and Kasdan were friends, so I'm told. Williams’s military file had been delivered a few days earlier to Colonel Pope by special messenger, so he was aware of what he looked like. However, just before he was scheduled to arrive, Kasdan paid Pope a visit in his office and somehow managed to get a powerful drug into his coffee. Kasdan had already met with Sureahl in Albuquerque, who gave him his photo and prints, so when the colonel went into seizure and lapsed into unconsciousness, he simply took Williams's file from Pope’s desk, destroyed his prints and photo, and replaced them with Sureahl's. Since Pope was the only person who would know Williams by sight, he had to be eliminated. He never regained consciousness, and died in the hospital a few days after you left." He paused and nodded to Pierce. "Another good piece of police wo
rk by the Sergeant, here. The Albuquerque crime lab isolated the drug used by Kasdan and identified it as a substance that originated in the Middle East. 'Mummy juice' I think they called it."

  "And the sniper's gun?" Matt asked Pierce.

  "A rare gun made in America but used mostly in Middle Eastern countries," Pierce replied. "Small enough to carry in a briefcase when disassembled. It’s primarily used by security officers in the protection of heads-of-state, but because of its size and power it can also be a handy weapon for assassinations.

  "When we identified the body at the airport as a Marine captain named Williams, I suddenly remembered the guy who delivered your note was also a Marine captain named Williams. That's when I started to put two-and-two together and came up with the right number. When you didn't call as you said you would, I contacted an FBI friend of mine. I explained the situation and he contacted Mr. Ritchie. From there we used an FBI helicopter to gain access to Apache Point and went directly to Dr. Durant."

  "How did you find out about Kasdan?" Matt asked Ritchie.

  "Dr. Kasdan was an Iranian immigrant," Ritchie responded. "He came to America with his parents as a child when the West still had strong influence over oil production in the Middle East. Since he had been born in Iran, he naturally felt some emotional connection to his mother country. As it turned out, he was more of an Iranian patriot than an American citizen. But no one knew just how much loyalty he felt for his homeland until he became Director of Middle Eastern Studies at Apache Point. As director, he had supervision over all expeditions to that part of the world. In fact, he organized and led many of them himself. He had free access to the Chronocom, and read every report filed by agents conducting operations in that part of the world. He could also call the shots on most of the projects without obtaining approval from Dr. Durant. All except Babylon Station. When he couldn't gain access to those files, he approached Dr. Durant and demanded to know why he had been blocked from them. He was told that the files were restricted to persons who had a need to know, and there was no need for him to read them. That was when he began the search for someone who could break the access code."