by Paul G White
Makeman confirmed that he would carry out the instructions to the letter and Carter cut the connection to permit him to get on with the job without delay. He tapped on the prime minister’s door and a voice invited him to enter.
*
Suarez opened his intercom, and Yes, Colonel? issued from the speaker. He said, “I want Lieutenant Gomez in my office as of five minutes ago.”
“Yes, Sir, right away. Is there anything else, sir?”
“Not at this time. Just get the lieutenant.”
Within two minutes the intercom bleeped and Suarez opened the channel. “Yes?”
“Lieutenant Gomez is here, Sir.”
“Send him in, and tell the motor pool that we’ll need transport for a hundred troops within ten minutes. Also tell them we’ll need the Husky made ready with a full supply of live rounds.”
“I understand the Husky is undergoing a service, Sir.”
“Delay is not acceptable, Corporal. And the time is now down to eight minutes, so you’d better stress the urgency of my order to the motor pool.”
“Yes, Sir!” The intercom clicked and went silent. The outer door slammed and the sound of running footsteps receded down the outer corridor.
Suarez smiled at Lieutenant Gomez, his teeth white against his swarthy skin. “They’ll be ready, so we’d better assemble the troops.”
“Troops, Sir?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. We’ve been ordered by the prime minister to station a hundred troops at an archaeological site in the Maya Mountains, and we’ve got less than two hours to get there. My orders are to secure the site and then await reinforcements, so we’d better get moving.”
Gomez couldn’t hide his puzzlement. “What is so special about the site, Colonel?”
“At this time I know as much – or as little – as you do, Lieutenant, but we’ll find out when we get there. And it had better be worth all the trouble of deploying our troops at such short notice.” He put on a mock terrified expression. “And if my wife loses out on a meal at Corker’s in Belmopan for anything less than the threat of World War Three, I’m afraid it will be—” He drew his finger across his throat.
The lieutenant didn’t know whether to smile or not at the colonel’s little joke, but they would soon discover that the reason for their deployment was more important than either of them could possibly have imagined.
*
Hardy was on the telephone when Carter re-entered the room, and it was clear from his deferential tone that he was speaking to the British prime minister. He made a passing comment about seeing him sometime in the near future and hung up the phone.
“Well,” he said, “that’s fixed. Now, gentlemen, a cup of tea and we’ll get down to ideas on how we approach the excavation of the, ahem, space ship.
*
The list of disciplines was growing longer as Mike Carter added linguistics expert and cryptographer to those already scrawled on the notepaper. Hendriksson had insisted on returning to the archaeological dig in order to provide the necessary liaison between his staff and the hundred or so troops deployed under Colonel Suarez to protect the site.
The telephone on Hardy’s desk trilled softly. The prime minister put it on ‘speakerphone’ and the voice of Colonel Suarez said, “Sir, the site is secure, at least in the short term. Am I likely to receive reinforcements, because we have a pretty wide area to cover and we’ll be pretty stretched.”
Hardy’s voice was soft as he said, “I’m relying on you, Colonel, to protect all the international scientists who will be arriving over the next few days. So far our neighbours over the border are in the dark about what we have found, but even the tightest security won’t prevent word leaking out eventually.”
“Am I permitted to know what we’re guarding, Sir? Apart from the scientists, that is.”
“Speak to Director Hendriksson about that, Colonel. He will bring you up to date with what has happened so far, along with our plans for excavation of the site. And as for reinforcements, the British prime minister is currently ordering fifty of his country’s elite soldiers to join you. They are presently undergoing jungle training in Belize under the command of a Major James Heathcote and the major will now be responsible to you.” Hardy smiled to himself and continued, “A word of warning, Colonel Suarez. These elite soldiers are accustomed to doing their jobs with the minimum of fuss and bureaucracy, and I suggest you keep it that way.”
“Yes, Sir. Is there anything else?”
“No, Colonel. And good luck! I’ve a feeling we may all need a little of that particular commodity over the coming months.”
The connection terminated and Suarez stared into the phone in puzzlement. If he wasn’t mistaken, he had just been ordered to leave the British reinforcements pretty much to their own devices. Over the years a number of British troops had honed their skills in the jungles of Belize, and some of the tales that had surfaced had been eyebrow-raisers. When he gave it a little thought, he realised that a common thread ran through the stories: that the troops rarely needed direct orders or explicit instructions in order to get the job done. He smiled inwardly. Having them around would probably prove educational, for both himself and his hundred inexperienced troops.
CHAPTER THREE
Major James Heathcote arrived at the site in a camouflaged lightweight Land Rover at the head of a cavalcade of three armoured troop carriers and two mobile heavy machine guns. They had passed through an outer ring of sentries, none of whom were sufficiently well hidden to escape the sharp eyes of the major.
As his vehicle pulled to a halt he turned to his driver and said, “Rustle up a mug of tea, will you Scotty, while I go and find out what this is all about. The men can stretch their legs and have a smoke, but tell them I want them to stay near their vehicles until I get back. And remind them to keep their weapons close until we understand the situation a little better.”
Sergeant Jim Scott grinned and gave a perfunctory salute. “Yes, Sir.” Scott theatrically sniffed the jungle odours that hung heavy in the air of the clearing. “They’ll probably be glad of a bit of fresh air, Sir.”
But the major was already striding over to a dark green military tent, which had been erected some twenty metres from the edge of the freshly-cleared jungle. He pushed open the flap and looked inside. He saw a full colonel and lieutenant of the Belizean army scrutinising printouts of aerial photographs – probably of the site, he thought.
He ducked inside, came erect and saluted. “Major Heathcote at your service, Sir. I have fifty troops at my command, ready for deployment. Do you have any specific orders for me?”
Colonel Suarez smiled. “It’s quite straightforward, Major. We have an area approximately five hundred metres in diameter to protect, using a hundred troops under my command, supplemented by the fifty troops kindly loaned by your government.” He smiled again. “I don’t have to spell it out that my troops are raw and inexperienced, because you have no doubt already encountered some of them during your stay in my country.”
It was the major’s turn to smile. “You’ll probably find that they will surprise you, Colonel. The men have a habit of doing that – and when you least expect it.”
Colonel Suarez sighed. “They may have to, Major, because the way I see it, there is a good chance that we will receive unwelcome visitors from across the border the moment word gets out what we have here.”
“And what is that exactly?”
Colonel Suarez stood up from his canvas chair and placed his cap neatly on his head. “You’d better follow me. No time like the present to let you know what the fuss is all about.”
He brushed past the major and ducked out through the open tent flap. Heathcote followed and donned his cap as soon as he was outside. The major looked around, taking in the detail of the site for the first time. He saw a bright yellow JCB parked beside a long trench with its engine idling. Along one side of the trench there was a considerable spoil heap, probably twice as wide as the excavation and at least eight
feet high. The air immediately above the excavation was alive with movement, as dust and small rocks churned and seethed in a madcap dance in the still, jungle air.
Colonel Suarez strode off towards the trench and Major Heathcote followed a couple of steps behind. They halted a couple of metres from the edge and Suarez pointed downwards into the depths. “That’s what it’s all about, Major,” he said.
Heathcote leaned towards the edge of the hole as far as the protective barrier would allow in an attempt to peer into the depths, but for almost a minute, all he saw was dusty chaos. But suddenly, a small window of visibility opened up, revealing the intensely black surface of the artefact four metres below ground level. As suddenly as the visibility cleared, it closed in again.
“What exactly do we have down there, Colonel?” the major enquired, “and just how big is it?”
Suarez grinned. “I think we should allow the experts to explain, but I’m informed that the effect we are seeing with the dust in the trench is probably some kind of protective shield. As for what we think it is and how big, you’d best talk to Dr Hendriksson, the site director.” He grinned again. “Prepare to be impressed – I was.”
The two officers made their way across the archaeological site to where several tents stood a few metres away from the cleared edge of the jungle. Suarez indicated a sizeable ridge tent in a pale olive colour, which was open at the front with the flaps neatly rolled and tied back. A mosquito net was draped across the entrance although there was little insect activity at this time of day. The colonel pushed through the screen and Major Heathcote followed. Inside, Hendriksson was sitting in a canvas chair at a desk that contained a scattering of A3 printouts and a laptop. He was staring intently at the screen. Phil Makeman was leaning over the desk regarding the screen with the same degree of concentration.
Hendriksson looked up. “Yes, Colonel, what can I do for you?”
Suarez gestured in the direction of his fellow officer. “I’d like you to meet Major Heathcote, the officer commanding our reinforcements.”
Hendriksson smiled and stood up. He offered his hand to Heathcote and the major took it. “Heathcote? You’re British?”
The major nodded. “For my sins.”
Phil Makeman regarded Major Heathcote’s uniform: the minimal amount of military insignia; everything understated; nothing to proclaim his regimental allegiance except a small badge bearing the motto ‘WHO DARES WINS’. “You’re SAS, Major?”
Heathcote grinned. “Is it that obvious?”
“It’s just that my brother served in your lot and I’ve learned to read the signs. It’s good to have you around, Major, but it’s a pity it was considered necessary.”
“You won’t notice any of us after a couple of days, Mr—?”
“Makeman . . . Phil Makeman. I hope not. This is primarily a scientific site and it won’t help anyone to have the Military clumping over everything with their size tens.”
Hendriksson smiled at Makeman to ease the tension. “Look Phil, they have not been deployed to interfere with what we’re doing here. They are here to protect us in the eventuality of an attack from over the border. Sovereignty over this area has long been disputed by the people of Belize and Guatemala and it’s possible that if the Guatemalan government gets wind of what we are doing here, they will attempt to claim it for their own. Colonel Suarez and Major Heathcote’s troops will not get in our way and, who knows, we may well be grateful in the future for their presence.”
Major Heathcote waited for the director to finish, then added, “Colonel Suarez wanted me to see what is causing all the fuss. Once you’ve explained what it’s all about, I’ll be able to return to my troops to arrange their deployment.”
Looking slightly sheepish, Makeman slid an A3 printout over the desk and held down one edge.
Heathcote’s expression was neutral. “What am I seeing here?”
Makeman traced the buried foundations of the temple with his index finger. “This is one corner of the Mayan temple we are excavating. The foundations you can see measure thirteen metres on one side and fourteen metres along the other.”
The major stared at the printout and after a few seconds he traced the feint outline of the vessel. “And what is this? It appears to be below the temple foundations.”
“That, Major,” said Hendriksson, “is what we believe to be a space ship, and as far as we can tell, it is at least sixty-five million years old.”
Heathcote eyed the outline, attempt to estimate its size in comparison with the known dimensions of the part of the foundation overlying it.
“The space ship is a hundred and thirty metres long and ninety metres wide,” Hendriksson provided.
The major whistled through his teeth and commented to Colonel Suarez, “You were right, Colonel. I am impressed.”
A hand appeared at the closure point of the insect screen and a gap opened up. Helena Wightman, an archaeology student who was on-site to gain experience towards her degree, thrust her head into the tent. Her blonde hair waved around in the sunlight as it encountered static from one of the computer screens.
“Yes Helena?” Hendriksson asked curtly.
“Sorry to bother you, Director, but one of the local craftsmen is missing and I can’t find him anywhere.”
“What do you mean, ‘missing’?”
“It’s Joseph, one of the carpenters. I needed him to strengthen shuttering in one of the pits, and I couldn’t locate him anywhere. I asked around and no one has seen him since this morning.”
Hendriksson looked at his watch; the time was four fifteen. “And no one has any idea where he might have gone?”
“No, Doctor Hendriksson – although—”
“You have something to add, Helena?”
“It’s just that Joseph sometimes talked about having family both sides of the border. He might have-”
Phil Makeman said, “Shit! Excuse my French, but that’s just what we need; someone to go blabbing about what we’ve found.”
Hendriksson made placating gestures. “But he cannot know exactly what is beneath us. Carter and Andersson and the two of us have talked about it, yes, but not in the presence of any of the excavators or local workmen.”
The explanation failed to lift Phil Makeman’s gloom. “I know we’ve been careful, Lars, but everyone on the site saw what happened when the trench erupted for the first time, and there must have been speculation amongst the crew as to what we’d found.” He looked expectantly at Helena Wightman. “Helena?”
“There are lots of rumours flying around,” she explained, “most of them too ridiculous to give even a second thought. But everyone is certain that what we have is pretty important – otherwise, why would you and Mr Carter race off to Belmopan before the dust had had time to settle? And this morning, we suddenly had soldiers everywhere, digging in as if preparing for World War Three, followed a few minutes ago by a detachment of British troops. Even I can see that we’ve uncovered something more than a patch of blackness that throws soil and rocks up in the air.”
“And Joseph knew about the rumours?” Hendriksson probed.
“Everyone did, Dr Hendriksson. It would be impossible for anyone on the site not to be part of it.”
Major Heathcote tapped the table lightly with his fingers and he instantly had everyone’s attention. “I could send a couple of my men after him. They’re trained to keep up a fast pace whatever the conditions, and I’m confident they would bring him back.”
“It’s too late for that, Major,” Hendriksson told him. “Even without transport, a four-hour lead should see him safely across the border. It’s really not that far.”
“In that case, Heathcote replied, I must arrange the deployment of my men. If the border is as close as you say, the only factor to determine how soon our friends over there attempt to take over this site, is how long it takes them to realise Joseph is telling the truth.” He saluted Colonel Suarez and ducked out through the insect netting. The colonel excused hims
elf and followed a few metres behind.
Everyone seemed to have forgotten Helena Wightman until she enquired in a trembling voice, “Are we really going to be attacked, Doctor Hendriksson?”
Hendriksson glanced at Phil Makeman. “It’s possible,” he admitted, “but I think it’s very unlikely that anyone would attempt to take over the site by force. Unfortunately, we have to be prepared for the worst, and that is the reason why we have troops here.”
“In that case, Doctor Hendriksson, I am requesting that I be returned to Belize City so that I can go home to England. I didn’t come here to be part of a war.”
The Director gave Phil Makeman another meaningful glance. “I’m sorry, Helena, but the government of Belize has proscribed all movement of personnel from this site until a full complement of notable international scientists can be flown in. Until that happens, no one enters, and no one leaves.”
Phil Makeman was staring at Hendriksson as if seeing him for the first time. “They can’t do that, Lars,” he ground out. “They can’t go around putting us under what amounts to house arrest.”
“I’m afraid they can . . . and they have. Look, Phil, it’s going to take a few days at least to assemble the core of a multinational team of scientists of every discipline known to mankind, in all probability including a number of Nobel Prize winners. Until then, they want to be assured that word about what we have here isn’t made public, because if it were, we would be overrun by thousands of people from sightseers to weirdos.”
“But this is restricting our basic freedom of movement,” Makeman protested.
Hendriksson smiled to ease the rapidly building tension. “Look Phil, this isn’t the United Kingdom . . . or, for that matter, Sweden. We are here at the invitation of the Government of Belize, and we are here under their rules. You know that what we have here is, in all likelihood, the most important scientific or archaeological discovery in the entire history of the human race. My team are, and will remain, at the very centre of everything that happens here, and I have the assurance of the Prime Minister himself about that. I, for one, am prepared to endure a little inconvenience . . . even the prospect of a few flying bullets, if it comes to that . . . for the knowledge that I am part of this momentous event.”
