The Third Craft

by James Harris

  Hawk, meanwhile, remained alone in the cargo bay of the Atlantis. He had returned the borrowed spacesuit to the on-board storage closet. He reached out and touched the side of the crypt with his hands, now gloveless. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see and feel, but it had a cold, smooth, plastic-like cover. It was solid and felt heavy. He had expected an eerie feeling of dread or alien power, but felt nothing at all. The crypt sat lifelessly in the middle of the bay. If the body of his father was inside, Hawk couldn’t feel it.

  The plan was for him to wait until Grayer had debriefed the crew. He was to remain in the payload bay area of the craft to avoid detection by the maintenance crew. Grayer had arranged a delay in the craft’s maintenance until he could get Hawk and the sarcophagus out.

  Hawk heard the muted grating sound of a metal door opening in the hangar. He heard his father calling out to him. Hawk ran up to the flight deck and punched in the sequence to open the cargo bay doors. He waited a moment as he checked the monitor. The giant door cracked open and began to undo slowly, like a flower unfurling in the sun. He jumped down the interdeck hatch and emerged at the middeck in time to see his father approach the craft.

  “Hawk! How was your first space flight?”

  “Amazing! Just awesome. They don’t pay these guys enough.”

  Grayer laughed and gave him a warm handshake.

  “This mission went great. And look what we brought back.”

  “Me,” his father answered calmly, looking at the sarcophagus.

  Hawk shivered. “Don’t creep me out.”

  Grayer laughed. He leaped aboard the craft to examine the crypt.

  “It’s in perfect condition.”

  “Now what?”

  “Now we move it to a safe place.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I’ve got a heavy-duty van. I’ll open the hangar and bring it in. You get ready with the Canadarm to hoist the crypt down into the van.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that. The Arm isn’t easy to operate, you know.”

  “Hawk, you studied the operation of the Arm. You’ve observed the crew. I know you can do this.”

  With that, he left and walked through the hangar toward the side door.

  CHAPTER56

  Hawk sat on his haunches by the open bay door. He looked at his watch. Something was wrong; he could feel it. It shouldn’t take that long for his father to retrieve the van. The hangar door should have been creaking open by now. Instead there was nothing but an ominous silence, broken intermittently by the frantic flutter of morning doves in the steel rafters.

  Frustrated, Hawk stood up and walked along the mid deck toward the front of the Atlantis. He turned the crank to the top hatch and opened it. Grabbing each side of the hatch, he lifted himself silently out of the orbiter, and moved along the roof and down a steel ladder. He landed solidly on the oil-stained concrete hangar floor in a crouched position. Something was amiss. He trotted across the floor toward a small side door.

  It was early December, eight thirty in the evening, and the sunset had faded into the starlit sky. Yet there was a faint green glow coming from under the door. It was a color he knew well. It was an Aura Shield … most likely his father’s. He burst into a run and then skidded to a stop. He was about to throw open the door when a voice inside his head warned him of danger. But the need to see what had happened to his father overrode his caution.

  Hawk twisted the door handle and, keeping one hand on the handle, dropped into a crouch position ready to spring. He reached out and pushed the door open. The rusty hinges whimpered in protest. Nothing. He pushed the door farther open.

  Suddenly he spotted the body of his father lying in a pool of blood, about twenty feet away. He sprang up, ready to run to his father’s aid, then shrank down again instantly. No use running headfirst into an ambush. He inched toward the threshold of the door to get a better look.

  The overhead hangar floodlights lit the area well. Grayer was lying crumpled on his side, his chest red with blood. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be unconscious. His aura wavered over his body like heat haze in the desert. It was his body’s instinctive protection against further harm.

  It was also proof that he was still alive.

  Hawk rose to a half crouch and left the protection of the hangar. The very instant he exposed himself, a loud clang and a puff of debris exploded above his head. He ducked and flattened himself on the still warm asphalt. A sniper!

  He rolled on the ground and activated his protective aura. Another shot hit his shield where his head had been an instant before. Copper shell fragments bounced harmlessly onto the tarmac. Then another shot, and another. The sniper was using a high-powered rifle. The barrage was testing the resilience of Hawk’s shield. It continued to withstand the onslaught, but each round seemed to penetrate his shield slightly more than the previous one. He would soon have to retreat.

  He saw a military guard round the corner and run toward his father. His pistol was drawn. Hawk tried waving him off.

  “Sniper, get down!” he screamed. But it was too late. There was a shot. The guard’s legs flew out from underneath him as if he had slipped on ice. He landed on his upper back and his head bounced as it hit the pavement. The next instant, there was a puff of red smoke as a bullet exploded in the man’s chest. The guard’s body arched upward, then relaxed, motionless.

  Hawk used the diversion to drag his father out of the line of fire and back into the hangar. Another guard ran up, and he too was shot. Hawk knew he had to take action before more people were injured. He couldn’t get help for his father if the sniper killed everyone who came to assist.

  Ignoring the rounds exploding all around him, he raced out into the open and up to the fallen guard. He took the service revolver from the poor man, who was staring sightlessly upward.

  Hawk snapped the safety off and looked around. He determined where the shots were coming from and dashed off toward the sniper’s nest. He could see the sniper’s head and shoulder outline in the window of an administration building about fifty yards away. Running a zigzag pattern, Hawk made his way to the building.

  A few air force administrative personnel were coming and going. Hawk kept his revolver dangling at his side, out of sight, as he raced along the gray linoleum. He brushed past a few startled military personnel but was not challenged. He found a stairwell and flung open the door. He headed toward the fourth floor.

  As he raced up the stairs, Hawk thought about the attack. It was more of an ambush than an assault. He was determined to dish out severe punishment to this sniper. He would use all his special skills to hurt him.

  Hawk flew through the steel stairwell door, stenciled “4,” and burst into the hallway. It was deserted. He dashed down the dimly lit hall and slid to a stop outside the office where he judged the sniper to be hidden. His aura was peaking; green energy crackled about him. The door was an air force green with a smoked-glass window on the upper half. Pistol at the ready, Hawk tried the door handle. Locked.

  Hawk placed the gun against the lock and turned slightly away. Then he fired a round, exploding the lock and springing the door loose. He shoved the door open and reached for a light switch, flicking it on. A bank of old-fashioned florescent tube lights hummed on. He entered the room in a semi-crouched position. His pistol guided the direction of his gaze. His eyes rapidly scanned the room from side to side. It appeared empty.

  There were a dozen desks, but no people. His eyes caught sight of an open window. From there he could see the bodies of the two guards, still undiscovered. There would be no vengeance today. The sniper had made a clean getaway.

  This sniper may have been good, but he wasn’t careful enough. Hawk, on his hands and knees, found a spent casing beside a wastepaper can. He pocketed the shell.

  Staring intensely out the window at the hangar and the fallen soldiers, he reached for the nearest phone to summon help. His eyes never left the hangar four stories below. He placed a call home to Joe. He nee
ded help, and he needed it fast.

  It was five in the morning and there was a hint of sunrise in the sky. Joe was anxious as he walked through the doors of the intensive care section of Edwards AFB military hospital.

  He spotted Hawk dozing in a waiting room outside the ICU. He gently touched his arm.

  Hawk awoke with a start. He looked confused for an instant. Then he smiled broadly.

  “Hi. You made good time.”

  “I rented a 172 and flew straight here. How’s Dad doing?”

  “Not entirely good. He was shot in the chest. High power rifle.”

  “God.”

  “The shot missed his heart by an inch – otherwise he’d be dead.”

  Joe cast his eyes downward.

  Hawk went on. “The shot messed up his insides. The surgeon says he’s very lucky to be alive.”

  “What about the aura, his shield?”

  “It worked, just not quick enough. He had no idea. It was a hidden sniper. Without the shield, Dad would have been a goner for sure. He never had a chance to activate his protection.”

  “Is he in surgery now?”

  “Yup. It’s been several hours. I’m getting worried.”

  “No need to be,” a deep voice boomed from the opening door of the surgery.

  Hawk jumped. He turned toward the surgeon. “Is he going to be OK?”

  “Your father will recover from his injuries. Other than his gunshot wound, he’s in good health.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “It will take some time before he’s on his feet again. There was muscle damage. The bullet tore through some sensitive muscle tissue and ribs. He’ll have to have some physiotherapy to help build up his muscle again.”

  “Can we see him?”

  “In a while. He’s still unconscious.”

  “How long before we can see him?”

  “He’s heavily sedated. I figure about two or three days.”

  Hawk thought about the crypt. It was supposed to be off the base last night. He knew they couldn’t keep it hidden for long.

  He managed a smile. “Thanks, doc.”

  “My pleasure. Now don’t you fellows worry. Your father’s in good hands here. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?” He left the waiting room, peeling off his sweaty green skullcap.

  Hawk spun toward Joe. “We have to move the crypt right away!”

  “There’ll be hell to pay if it’s discovered,” Joe nodded.

  “It’s up to us.”

  “Yeah, but where do we move it? Dad never told us his plans.”

  “You’re right. I’ve no idea. One thing for sure though …”

  “What?”

  “We have to move fast. I left the hangar door wide open. Anyone could stumble on it.”

  “We could wait for Dad to regain consciousness.”

  “Two risky. We have to go, now!”

  CHAPTER57

  Hawk skidded to a stop just outside of the perimeter of the hangar. He grabbed Joe’s jacket and pulled him up against the side of the building. He peeked around the corner. “Shit. All kinds of guards. Some investigators taped off the area.” He noted that the bodies of the other two guards had been removed.

  “Too many. We’re not air force personnel. They’ll never let us pass.”

  “We’ll use the Voice. We’ve got to get closer before they spot us. I don’t want them to have time to think.”

  “I’ll take the ones on the left.”

  Hawk nodded and the two began a careful walk toward the hangar door.

  They were spotted once they hit open ground. A group of a half dozen soldiers converged.

  “Sorry, boys. This is a restricted area. Say, how come you two aren’t in uniform?”

  Hawk and Joe used the Voice on them. The guards were rendered blind to the twins’ presence. They simply walked past them as if they were ghosts passing through a wall.

  The boys weren’t prepared for the sight that met them when they pushed the door open. In the gray early morning light of the hangar, three men were hoisting the crypt into the back of the white van Frank Grayer had rented. The sarcophagus teetered on the edge, half in and half out of the van.

  “Hey!” Hawk screamed before he thought about the consequences. “Get away from there!”

  The men spun around. The two men outside the shuttle reached into their jackets and pulled out automatic pistols.

  “Shields up, bro!” Joe said. “Let’s show them what we can do!”

  The men’s rounds bounced off the boys’ Shields.

  Hawk raised his right hand. Tendrils of green energy snaked from his open palm. It was like watching lightning travel sideways through the air. It struck one of the men standing by the van and bowled him over. His back hit the side of the van with a loud crunch and he crumpled to the ground.

  Someone from inside the shuttle began firing a small submachine pistol. It made a huge racket echoing off the corrugated metal walls. Bullets were screaming all around the pair.

  The boys watched as the Canadarm released the crypt, which dropped abruptly into the van. The cargo van’s nose heaved up with the weight, and bounced back down, throwing up a cloud of dust. The crypt was mostly inside the van, but the rear doors remained open.

  The giant hangar doors began to slide open sideways, flooding the space with natural daylight. There was the screeching of rubber as a vehicle appeared out of nowhere and charged at the twins. They somersaulted to safety.

  Several guards, alerted by the commotion, raced through the hangar door. They ran toward the shuttle with their sidearms drawn, unable to determine who had been firing.

  Looking around him at the superior firepower, Hawk shouted to Joe, “Time to go, bro!”

  Joe did a quick look around. “Uh huh. We’re outta here!”

  “You drive.”

  “Thought you’d never offer,” Joe said, diving headfirst into the van’s driver seat. Hawk jumped in the other side.

  “Hawk, look behind. The back doors are wide open!”

  “No time. Let’s go!”

  The tires screeched and smoked in protest as Joe stepped on the gas.

  The cargo skidded backward and began sliding out of the van.

  “Not so fast!” Hawk yelled. “We’ll lose the sarcophagus.”

  Joe over-reacted, slamming on the brakes. The cargo torpedoed forward slamming against the reinforced cab wall cross bracings. “There, all fixed,” he said.

  A nondescript military-green Ford turned a tight circle and raced toward the van, to keep it from escaping the hangar.

  Joe swerved to avoid a collision, and the cargo shifted violently to the side. The tires screeched again, throwing up twin trails of white smoke.

  It wasn’t much of a race. The Ford broke off the attack abruptly. It ignored the van, swinging alongside the shuttle to pick up the two uninjured agents.

  Joe broke free from the hangar and pointed the van toward the base’s main gate. “Hawk, look for something to strap the crypt down with.”

  Hawk found the necessary tie downs on the floor of the van and secured the load. “Dad was prepared,” he said.

  “Come up front quick. We’re near the main gate.”

  Hawk pulled the rear doors shut and climbed into the passenger seat. “I wondered why the shooting had stopped. Now all we have to do is talk our way out of here.”

  “Not like we haven’t done that before!”

  After mesmerizing the gate guards into letting them pass, the boys found their way to the interstate highway.

  “Let’s go east, Joe. Let’s head toward Arizona and then on to Colorado. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s only a matter of time before those guys catch up to us again,” Joe said. He kept checking the rear-view mirror as if he had a tic.

  “Why don’t we head for Los Alamos?”

  “Our old home town?”

  “Exactly. The place where all this started. The air force base. Why don’t we hide th
e crypt in the lab that Dr. Bohr had on the base?”

  “We know it’s decommissioned and empty.”

  “It’s secure. It’s been empty for years. No one would think of looking there.”

  “We have a destination!”

  “Now all we have to do is stay alive for the next few days.”

  “Piece of cake.”

  Stell and his crew had been well prepared when they captured Grayer soon after the shuttle landed.

  Stell’s spies had compromised the mission. An alien crewmember had quietly replaced the attending physician. Incredibly, it was the sniper himself who took on the identity of the substitute doctor. He prescribed a strong narcotic and took Grayer’s gurney from the OR out to a waiting helicopter. It was a military chopper disguised to look like a Med Evac.

  “Got to get him back to D.C. – stat!” he yelled.

  Before the watch command could stop them, the crew lifted off and disappeared. Grayer had vanished. He had been abducted. The Pentagon had no idea where he was. Their sole proof of alien life on the planet Earth was gone.

  Grayer was spirited under heavy sedation to Washington, D.C. The public was not aware of a secret underground labyrinth beneath Washington. It served as a massive bunker, built to protect the government in times of war. In the event of a nuclear attack, members of the administration could escape and still govern the country. Beneath the Capitol Building was a warren of passageways that led to other buildings in Washington, including the U.S. Supreme Court, the Library of Congress, the National Air and Space Museum, and other less known buildings.

  Stell’s people had kidnapped Frank Grayer. While Stell was deciding what to do with him, he had him put into a chemically induced coma. Unbeknownst to the Secretary of Defense, Grayer was being held in medical treatment room LL3AC almost directly beneath the Capitol Building. The room had no identification other than a stamped brass plate that read “AC.” It had a permanent guard and perimeter security. Four wall-mounted cameras ran surveillance around the clock.