“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, and used her gloved hands to fold the remains back into fetal position. “Can you see it now?”
Barnett nodded. The scratches formed a straight line that connected its pelvis, chest, and the side of its face and forehead, almost as though something had crawled in there with him. Or, if the apparent direction of the scratches was to be believed, crawled out.
A buzzing sound materialized from the silence, followed momentarily by a faint red glow from the tunnel through which Bly had disappeared. Barnett recognized it as one of the drones they used to explore the tunnels. It had parallel treads like a tank, a circle of infrared LED lights mounted around a night-vision camera, and held a handwritten note in the clamp at the end of its remote-controlled armature.
Barnett read the note, crumpled it, and shoved it into his pocket.
“I assume you can handle this from here,” he said.
“If you’re asking if I’ll be okay without someone jabbing the remains with a knife and ruining my work, I’ll find a way to get by.”
Barnett dove into the hole and followed the drone as fast as he possibly could. He’d known that he would likely be outside the range of their communications devices, but hadn’t even considered the possibility that this would be the moment Dr. Clarke would choose to make the breakthrough he was beginning to think might never come.
BOOK II
There are no beautiful surfaces without
a terrible depth.
—FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
14
ROCHE
Surface Access Platform,
2 vertical miles above FOB Atlantis,
March 26
“What are we doing here?” Kelly whispered.
Roche could only shake his head. He’d been wondering the exact same thing.
Everything that had transpired since leaving the onion field in Wiltshire that morning was one big blur. Being hustled from the Black Hawk to the waiting Cessna Citation X private plane on the tarmac at Heathrow. Lifting off before they were even in their seats. Streaking through the sky without so much as a word of explanation from Morgan, whose only advice had been to get some sleep because they were going to need it. Landing on a dirt airstrip somewhere in Africa, as best as he could tell, and returning to the sky the moment the plane was refueled.
A Bell V-280 Valor tiltrotor aircraft had been waiting for them in Johannesburg and ferried them over the Southern Ocean, upon which they watched the icebergs become increasingly prevalent with a growing sense of dread, to the Aurora Borealis. The repurposed Coast Guard icebreaker had been invisible through the blowing snow and frozen in a solid sheet of ice. They’d been rushed inside for a quick meal and an even quicker bathroom break while the combination helicopter/airplane was refueled before heading inland through a storm that made the one they remembered from six months ago seem like nothing.
The winds had battered the aircraft, tossing it around like a child’s toy to the point that Roche’s fingers hurt from gripping the arms of his seat so hard. The front windshield had been opaque with ice and assaulted with snowflakes the size of moths, and yet somehow the pilot had navigated them to an elevated platform framed by flashing lights. He’d made reference to the ruins of AREA 51, high above them in the jagged black mountains drifting in and out of the blowing snow, but when Kelly replied that she couldn’t see them he’d laughed and said that the only remnants they were likely to find now were buried in the snow below them.
The landing platform served as little more than a raised foundation for a power station that looked large enough to service an entire town. The racket from the generators had been deafening and provided a constant thrum that vibrated the ground beneath their feet. They’d been rushed past men in full arctic gear without introduction, through mazes of pipes as thick as tree trunks, and to an elevator suspended above a shaft seemingly without bottom.
Kelly had clung to Roche’s hand the entire time. The physical contact had served to help him focus on the situation and distract him from the sheer insanity of what they were doing. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d be anywhere near this godforsaken continent ever again, let alone riding an elevator into its depths with a man in black fatigues who seemed to draw immense pleasure from making him work to drag even the most trivial information out of him. Morgan seemed to think he knew everything there was to know about him, but he couldn’t possibly have the slightest clue about the countless hours Roche had invested during the last six months into training himself to make sure he would never find himself in a position outside of his direct control ever again.
Despite the fact that they were traveling at a rate of speed just shy of free fall in a cage that would crumple like an aluminum can upon impact from any significant height, it was a welcome upgrade from the racket of machinery and the wicked elements.
Morgan piloted the elevator from inside the command console cutout, which offered a view of the entire shaft, obstructed only by the elevator to his right and the floor beneath his feet. The inset video monitor featured the view from a camera mounted to the bottom of the car. The perspective was disorienting.
“You look cold, Ms. Nolan,” Morgan said. “We took the liberty of packing a balaclava with your supplies.”
He nodded to the matching duffel bags his man Stevens had tossed into the elevator before watching them descend into the Earth.
Kelly shook her head and somehow managed a smile of gratitude.
“I’d just forgotten how cold it was here,” she said. “Or maybe repressed is a better word.”
The fur fringe of the arctic parka tickled her ear, judging by the way she rubbed at it with her shoulder, but she kept her left hand firmly in her pocket. Roche could only imagine how hard she had to work to keep her fingers balled into a fist.
“What’s waiting for us down below?” Roche asked.
“The same thing as before,” Morgan said. “With maybe a few minor alterations.”
The faint smirk at the edges of the man’s lips told Roche everything he needed to know.
“You still haven’t told us why we’re here,” Kelly said. “I mean, really told us. I get that the picture you showed us is identical to the crop circle, but you could have just as easily handled all of this via Skype.”
“Unit 51 is not known for half-measures, Ms. Nolan.”
“Then what is it known for?” Roche asked. “It doesn’t seem to me like anyone knows about it at all.”
“You must be losing your touch, Mr. Roche, because I assure you that not only are people well aware of our existence, we’ve developed something of a reputation.”
“For doing what?”
“I suppose you’ll find out soon enough.”
Roche saw a twinkle of amusement in the man’s eye, but his face remained impassive. He was in no mood for games. He had thought that once they boarded the plane and passed the point of no return that information would be readily forthcoming, and yet here they were plummeting into a situation beyond his reckoning, and he had long since exhausted his patience. Granted, he had gathered far more information about Morgan and Unit 51 than he let on, but at the same time, it was staggering how little of any real substance he had learned.
Like Barnett had told them, the organization was funded by Hollis Richards—or, more accurately, his estate—but that only accounted for a portion of its budget. Even Roche hadn’t been able to cut his way through the web of secrecy surrounding the organization, which, he supposed, was probably answer enough in itself. Why the government was funding a clandestine paramilitary unit whose primary mission seemed to be to investigate ancient alien phenomena was the real question, with the answer being of no small consequence.
Roche watched Morgan from the corner of his eye as the walls raced past behind him through the wire cage. Where the shaft beneath AREA 51 had been composed of solid ice, this one was reinforced with what almost looked like a seamless steel pipe, from which the overhead lights on t
he car reflected like so many shooting stars. They couldn’t make the shaft solid enough for his tastes, not after he’d barely escaped the last one with his life.
He allowed his breathing rate to accelerate and made sure Morgan noticed. The other man needed to feel as though he were in complete command of the situation.
“The shaft isn’t the only upgrade, as you’ll see soon enough.”
Maybe Roche was being overly paranoid, but he could no more ignore his training than he could his intuition. Something was extremely wrong here—he and Kelly wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t—and the time had come to figure out what that was.
Roche discreetly reached behind him and transferred Kelly’s hand to the rail.
“Did you send for any of the others?” Roche asked.
He looped his arm around Kelly’s waist in a gesture he hoped appeared intimate and eased her left hand from her coat pocket. Closed it around the rail, too. Hoped she took the hint and held on tight.
“It’s eating you alive, isn’t it?” Morgan said.
“What is?” Roche asked. He fixed the control panel in his peripheral vision and transferred his weight to his left foot.
“The not knowing.”
“I’ve made my peace with it.”
“You’re so full of crap. You and I are the same. Of course, if I were in your situation, I would have found a way to interrogate me before we were even halfway down.”
“Are we halfway down?”
“More than. It only takes sixteen minutes and it’s already been . . .” Morgan glanced at his watch. “Thirteen—”
Roche seized the opportunity and kicked the emergency stop button with his right foot.
The cage screeched as the brakes bit into the rails, showering them with sparks.
A klaxon blared.
Roche used the console for leverage and launched himself at Morgan, whose eyes widened in recognition a heartbeat before Roche hammered him into the wall.
Kelly screamed and sidestepped the fracas.
Roche pivoted his hips and came down on top of Morgan. Wrapped his legs around the other man’s midsection. Maneuvered his head and arm into a sleeper hold.
“Now listen to me very closely,” Roche said, and tightened his grip until Morgan stopped struggling. “You’re going to tell us exactly what to expect when we reach the bottom or so help me—”
“S’o-lyve,” Morgan grunted.
“What?”
“Iss o-lyve.”
Roche loosened his grip, and Morgan bucked him off. Roche took an elbow to the chin and was on his rear end before he recognized his mistake.
“Goddammit!” Morgan gasped. His entire head was as red as a tomato, and he was panting hard.
Roche dabbed the blood from his lip, wiped it on his pants, and stood over Morgan. He’d caught the larger man by surprise the first time, but he was prepared to do it again if he had to.
Kelly gently placed her hand on his forearm and lowered his fist to his side.
When he looked at her, he saw something in her expression that he prayed never to see there again.
“He said ‘It’s alive,’” she whispered.
Her words hit him harder than any blow Morgan could have landed. He staggered backward and looked from Kelly to Morgan, who straightened his jacket and rose to his feet once more.
Roche felt a confusion of emotions play out on his face. He looked back and forth between them for several seconds before pressing the button to restart the elevator.
The alarm ceased and the whine of the motor resumed. The car accelerated to full speed and the walls once more raced past.
“It can’t be,” Roche said.
Morgan rubbed his throat. Rolled his head on his shoulders.
“I underestimated you,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
“Don’t make me regret letting you breathe,” Roche said.
“We saw it get shot,” Kelly said.
“It survived,” Morgan said.
“And you allowed it to get away?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
The elevator slowed and a blinding light appeared from below them. The steel pipe opened and granted them their first glimpse of a world they thought they’d never see again.
“He means it’s down here,” Roche said.
He leaned against the cage, curled his fingers between the links, and rested his forehead against the wall. The lake that had been there before was gone, but the pyramid and the surrounding buildings remained, cleared of debris and out in the open, an entire ancient civilization laid bare before them.
“We need your help,” Morgan said.
Something in his voice caused Roche to turn and look him directly in the eyes.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“That’s just it. We don’t know.”
“And what makes you think we can help you?”
The elevator settled to the ground. Morgan unlatched the door, opened it onto a lighted concrete platform, and struck off toward the stairs leading down to a network of boardwalks. His voice carried back over his shoulder.
“Because it asked for you.”
15
ANYA
Teotihuacan
If they were right about it being a maze, then it had to have both a beginning and an end, but that end didn’t necessarily mean a way out. Perhaps that end was at the very middle. There was simply no way to tell for sure based on the sounding maps they were able to generate. The fact that the tunnels had been dry for so long before the sudden influx of water meant they were inherently unstable. Already they were undergoing unpredictable deterioration caused by erosion, and boring a hole straight down into them could potentially collapse the entire Citadel complex, which meant that if they wanted to find a way to explore the maze, they were going to have to find the entrance.
They could only assume that for there to be water inside, the source had to be distinct from the one that fed the San Juan River, or else they would have detected a corresponding change in its level six months ago. Hydrogeological maps proved to be of little use. Teotihuacan was located within what was known as the Valley of Mexico, a vast area of land contained by volcanic hills and mountain ranges. The ground was composed of layers of alluvial sediment and volcanic deposits interstratified with basalt, which served to contain countless aquifers at various depths. So many, in fact, that it was impossible to tell how many were beneath their feet, let alone which one was responsible for the leak.
It was while studying the stratigraphy of the lower portion of the main Mexico City aquifer that Anya had made the connection that should have been staring them in the face from the start. Regardless of their depth, aquifers were still subject to the laws of gravity, which meant that, like any pond or lake or even water in a glass, the surface level remained constant. It had taken the entire evening and well into the night to collect the GPR and magnetometer readings of the sacrificial well they’d explored what felt like days ago now, but the results had been conclusive.
The surface of the underground water was at the exact same depth, which meant that the two bodies had to be connected.
Her initial impression had been that the chamber had always contained water, when she should have recognized that if that were the case, the bones would have settled through the sediment thousands of years before she had the opportunity to trip over them. They would have eventually reached that conclusion, she knew, but she prided herself on not making assumptions. Fortunately, she had the opportunity to make up for it.
There was no way they’d be able to drain that much water, especially anytime soon, so they’d made an early-morning run to Mexico City, where they’d rented scuba gear for Dr. Evans and her. After her most recent diving experience, this promised to be a walk in the park by comparison, but she couldn’t afford to take anything for granted. At least the water would be fifty degrees warmer and she wouldn’t have to wear one of th
ose cumbersome dry suits.
She had packed her swimsuit and after six months was happy to finally have the opportunity to put it to use. It appeared to have the desired effect upon Villarreal, who couldn’t take his eyes off her while he helped her into the skintight wetsuit. She’d thought they were developing some chemistry, and it was nice to know that she was right. Maybe when they discovered the entrance to the maze, they could do a little celebrating of their own, assuming Evans left them alone for more than a few seconds. Why he didn’t like Villarreal was beyond her. Evans didn’t treat her like a father, per se; more like a big brother, whose expression betrayed how little he liked the way Don Juan, as he called him, was looking at his little sister.
Villarreal helped her zip up her wetsuit and gave her a twirl like they were dancing.
“Thank you, Juan Carlos,” she said.
He smiled and stepped behind her. When he spoke, his lips were so close to her ear that she could feel the warmth of his breath.
“Your diving belt.”
She felt him against her as he reached around her waist, clipped her belt, and cinched it tight. She placed her hand on his and—
“Come on, Anya,” Evans said. He was already fully dressed and waiting impatiently, as usual.
She shrugged on the straps of her harness, seated the tank high between her shoulders, and clipped the buckle across her breasts.
“How do I look?” she asked.
Villarreal raised his eyebrows and appeared ready to say something when Evans cut him off.
“Like we won’t be getting down there anytime soon if you don’t hurry up.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, then donned her diving mask.
“He is right,” Villarreal said. “We are all dying to know what is inside the maze. Do not worry, though. I will be right here to help you out of your wetsuit when you return.”
Anya was grateful that he could only see her eyes through the mask and not her cheeks, which must have been blushing something fierce. She connected the hose from the tank to the integrated regulator as she followed Evans down the ladder and to the mouth of the tunnel leading into the ceremonial well. By the time she caught up with him, she was fit to burst.
Forsaken Page 9
