Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  After climbing down from the opposite side of the tent, Violetta took slow steps towards a light pole behind the larger of the two portable buildings. Both buildings were dark, which meant that everyone in them was most likely asleep.

  Fastened about a foot above the light pole was the control box for the ammonia sensors and movement detectors in the minefield, which surrounded the silo entrance in a big racetrack pattern that ended at each side of the drive leading back to Base Road. Below the control box was a small junction box.

  Nir had Violetta draw out a screwdriver from her little equipment vest. It was especially made for Violetta's hands, and he used it through her hands to carefully remove the cover plate. Then, he tucked the tool back in its holster and drew out the disrupter device, which looked somewhat like a large tuning fork.

  Clipping the disrupter took only a minute, and soon he got the signal from his partner, Alexei Gladkov, that the disrupter was now in control of the sensors and sending a steady stream of unremarkable null signals to the automated monitoring panel in the guardhouse. Shai signaled Vigo that only one more step remained.

  Finding the air conditioner underneath the portable building was easy for Violetta; it glowed like a Christmas tree when seen through an infrared monocle. As the chimp walked slowly towards the building, its compressor shut off with a jolt leaving the whirring of its fan motor to cover the sound of the chimp's steps.

  Nir guided Violetta carefully to the unit's outside air intake. She removed the gas cylinder clipped to the straps on her back and Nir positioned her to get the most amount of gas possible into the building and then walked Violetta to the far end of the building where he made her sit. He then triggered the remote release on the gas canister, which began spewing its potent gas into the building's ventilation ducts. He turned towards Shai and winked. “Beddy-bye time,” he whispered.

  The Captain keyed his microphone. “Anthony, the package has been delivered,” Shai spoke softly. “Ten minutes."

  “Good job, Shai. Standby and wait for our signal."

  “Copy that."

  Anthony turned to Vigo and Charlie and gave them a thumbs-up sign. Vigo then whispered to Charlie, “I'll take the one in the guardhouse first, then the one at the gate. As soon as I start shooting, you get the two on the bunker roof. It's show time in 10 minutes."

  * * * *

  THE PHONE NEXT to Captain Darkazani's bed rang, waking him up for the second time in the middle of the night. The first time had been with Governor Johnston's arrival with his nurse Danielle Peters. What a shame he thought after meeting her to waste such a beautiful body on such a cold soul. He picked up the phone headset and pulled it to his ear. “Darkazani,” was all he could manage to say.

  The voice on the other end of the line sounded anxious. It was Johnston. “Captain, I was watching the monitors in the silo control room and we saw what appeared to be a small animal in the mine field tonight."

  “Yes, and what did your mercs tell you,” he sighed with exasperation.

  “That the animal was not heavy enough to trigger the land mines and that the motion sensors are detuned to ignore animals this small. But why wouldn't the ammonia sensors have detected something?"

  “It depends on the kind of animal. What we're looking for are people, especially people who eat meat. I can assure you that this is nothing to worry about. I personally oversaw the installation of that system and nothing human can survive it or escape detection. Now, governor, may I please go back to sleep? I need to get my rest for tomorrow. The transfer of the boy tomorrow at dawn will be, let's say, demanding. I suggest you get some rest too."

  “But I've got a funny feeling about this,” Johnston protested.

  “Do you want me to send my other men down into the silo with you?"

  “Oh no. You know the Secretary General's orders. You and your men are to stay out of the bunker."

  “I could send the other two mercs down. All four would be with you then. But then, you'll have a sleepy escort when you move the boy. What do you want me to do?"

  “Well,” Johnston sighed. “Forget it. We'll move the boy at dawn. In the meantime, I really hope you're right. It's just that I have this weird feeling and..."

  “And what?"

  “Something is not right. That's all."

  “I think you Americans call this the jitters. Yes?"

  “Yeah,” Johnston replied tersely. It was obvious that the conversation had gone nowhere, but how could he reprimand the man for being insensitive to his own awkward and undefined feelings? “Go back to sleep Captain. Hopefully I will not have to bother you again."

  As Johnston removed his headset, he noticed a quickly growing buildup of static on the line but paid it no mind to it, as he was more involved with thinking how his patience had long since run thin with Captain Darkazani. Only now, he regretted the loss of Colonel Yasin, who usually seemed to have a sixth sense about such matters.

  Yasin would have handled things more proficiently, but an Israeli hit team killed him in Mexico using an intercept of his own coded message to De Bono with Yasin's travel itinerary and description. He remembered what was on his mind when he sent that message. He knew that when he condemned Yasin to death that he was potentially hurting himself as well. He sensed that at the time, but he didn't know how or why. Only that he had to follow De Bono's orders.

  After hanging up the phone, Darkazani rolled on his back and groped on the nightstand for his lighter and cigarettes. He fumbled a bit in the dark and finally stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “Just another crazy American,” he grumbled to himself as he drew the smoke deep into his lungs. He wondered if he would be able to fall asleep for a third time, or would he just toss and turn till dawn?

  Better yet, he decided, perhaps a stiff drink. He took a small flask of whiskey out of the nightstand drawer and took several large sips as he continued to smoke his cigarette.

  As Darkazani inhaled with deep satisfaction, the main lighting system in the underground silo complex failed. Johnston immediately picked up the phone to call Darkazani again, but this time the phone was dead. “That stupid fool,” Johnston screamed as the red lights of the emergency lighting system bathed their startled faces with a ghoulish light. They were sitting ducks now and he knew it.

  * * *

  To Save Russell

  JOHN-PIERRE DURAND HAD just finished making his espresso when he heard the dull clunk of the emergency lighting system kick in, as Merl Johnston screamed. “Oh shit,” he murmured to himself as the small kitchenette filled with the eerie red glow of the emergency lights.

  By instinct, he drew his pistol and bounded to the adjacent crew quarters where Governor Johnston and his secretary Danielle Peters had been preparing the ‘client’ as they called the boy for transport in a new biostasis pod. At six foot one, the French-Canadian was a commanding sight of a man with a firm narrow jaw, scarred from one too many close-in fights and piercing black eyes that had seen death up close and personal a thousand times over and now they locked onto Danielle's. He could see that she was alarmed but cool. A reaction he'd expect from a fellow professional.

  Merl Johnston on the other hand was beginning to come apart at the seams. “Oh Jesus, we're going to die!” he exclaimed.

  Danielle looked back over her shoulder at him, “Get a grip, Merl.” Johnston's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.

  It made John-Pierre uncomfortable, “I'm going to the lower level,” he said as he ran a hand through his thick black hair to break eye contact with the frightened politician.

  “We'll be down in a moment,” Danielle replied. “Get going."

  As he leapt down the stairs to the control room level in three bounds, he could hear Danielle dressing down her boss through the open hatch of the crew quarters. A panicked fool was the last thing that anyone needed now and at least she had the presence of mind to bring Johnston into line.

  He found his watch partner, Joe Napolitano, a stocky 5’ 9” Ita
lian with short cut, brown wavy hair hunched over the console displays. His soft, blue-green eyes searched the displays for an accurate assessment of the situation and it had only taken him a few moments to realize the truth of their situation. “Hi Cat, you probably want a sitrep. In a nutshell, basically we're screwed.” John-Pierre had worked with Joe on several missions and the two men knew each other's strengths and weaknesses. Joe was an electronics wiz and John-Pierre was called “Cat” because of his cat-like reflexes and supple speed. They had worked well as team. Joe would spot the targets and Cat would usually slice their throats using his razor sharp titanium blade hollow-ground tactical knife.

  John-Pierre scanned the displays himself and remarked, “basically screwed really doesn't work for me, Joe."

  “It doesn't work for me either,” said Danielle as she slid down the stair railings into the control level. “Break it down for us,” she ordered.

  “Right,” Joe replied in a crisp voice. “For starters, we've lost the doors. We're wide open. We've also been cut off from our people topside, the outside world, and we've lost our surveillance cameras."

  “So we're deaf, dumb and blind,” Danielle quickly surmised.

  “And if my hunch is right,” John-Pierre reluctantly added, “we're going to be alone too."

  “What do you mean,” Danielle shot back.

  “It's obvious they're already inside our perimeter,” Joe replied scanning the displays. “They'd have to be in order to shut us down like this. As for the doors, it just doesn't make sense.” He turned to face them as Johnston stumbled down the stairs, white-faced and trembling. “So what do we do?"

  All eyes turned towards John-Pierre. “You're the tactical genius,” Danielle said with pursed lips. “You know this place better than I do, so I'm putting you in charge."

  John-Pierre nodded his acceptance and rubbed his chin as a plan formed in his mind. “Joe, get the Alamo kit."

  “I'm on it,” the Italian merc replied.

  “Alamo kit?” The term had immediately caught Johnston's attention.

  “It is something Joe and I put together just after we got here.” He glared at Danielle. “Your Syrians are not the brightest bulbs on the tree. They never expected a situation like this and our people topside are probably being cut to pieces right now. They should have never made it past the wire."

  “So why did they?” Johnston asked as Joe dragged a large footlocker across the control room floor to where they were standing.

  “Getting through a minefield with ammonia sensors and motion detectors is tricky but it can be done. If we had working motion sensors on the wire, a few of our people would already be here by now."

  “I've seen the plans and motion sensors were installed on the wire. Colonel Yasin insisted on it,” Danielle noted with surprise.

  “But Darkazani had them turned off."

  “What?” Johnston bellowed.

  “The day after Yasin disappeared, he boosted the settings and sure enough some damn bird tried to perch on the fence and set off the alarm. It was a real mess, the Syrians were shooting in every direction and Darkazani called in an alert to the Turkish Peacekeeper assault team in Houston."

  “I read the briefing on that. It was a routine practice drill,” Danielle said.

  John-Pierre laughed. “Routine, my ass. Darkazani was beside himself and didn't know whether to shit or eat. Calling it a practice drill was my idea. Darkazani latched onto it, but it sure didn't impress that Turkish Major when they landed. He was spitting nails. It seems the Turks and the Syrians have a mutual disgust for each other. After that, Darkazani had the fence sensors turned off, over my objections. On the upside, it did give me a chance to time their reaction time. From the alert to their landing here, it was just under fifty-six minutes."

  “It might as well be fifty-six years as far as we're concerned,” Johnston fumed.

  John-Pierre pointed the muzzle of his pistol at Johnston's face. “We don't need this. Do you get my drift?” Johnston stared down the muzzle of the pistol and nodded obediently as Danielle turned away to hide her disgust. She resolved in that moment that if they lived through the day, she'd leave him because when push came to shove, he had only proven himself to be a spineless man.

  Joe hefted the locker onto the console desk and flipped the latches open. “Voila,’ he announced as he removed the lid. Danielle looked inside the locker as Joe and John-Pierre began pulling out Belgian-made .45 caliber Uzi submachine gun pistols and stacks of fully loaded sixteen round clips. Joe hefted an Uzi with a devilish grin, “They're reliable, make a terrible noise and hit like hell."

  John-Pierre handed an Uzi to Danielle. “No thanks,” she said. “I prefer my Berretta.” She inserted a clip into the Uzi and handed it to Johnston. “Do you know how to use it?"

  “No."

  She took the Uzi back from him, charged the bolt and set the safety to the ‘on’ position. “It's simple,” she said as she demonstrated the weapon. “Hold it like so with both hands, set the safety like so, aim and pull the trigger. Can you remember that?"

  Johnston nodded, “both hands, safety, aim and pull the trigger. Got it."

  “Good,” she said handing the weapon back to him.

  “Governor, I suggest that you go back upstairs and remain by the client. We'll handle everything down here,” John-Pierre calmly said, noting the beads of sweat that were now forming on Johnston's temples.

  “If you get us out of this alive, John-Pierre, I'll double your bonus,” Johnston said anxiously.

  John-Pierre shook his head. The fact that Johnston would even make such an offer was insulting to him. “That's not necessary."

  Danielle picked up on his annoyance and felt ashamed by Johnston's cheapness. “What the Governor meant to say,” she added, “is that your bonus as well as Joe's has been increased to one million Euros tax free. Now earn it!"

  “Now you're talking our language,” John-Pierre replied with a grin as Joe happily rolled his eyes. This Danielle gal was tough and cool, but she certainly had class. “Governor, go upstairs to the client and write the check."

  “Yeah, I'll do that,” Johnston agreed nervously and bolted up the stairs, glad to be one more level removed from the action.

  As he disappeared up the stairway, Joe pulled a Spitfire UHF Manpack Terminal and collapsible antenna out of the locker. “This was my idea,” he grinned. “The UNE has assigned frequencies on all MILSATCOM satellites. Would you happen to have a calling card Ms. Peters?"

  “Finally, a real break,” Danielle sighed with relief. “You bet your ass, I do."

  “Joe, we're too deep here for an uplink so you'll have to set the antenna up at that top of the emergency crew access tunnel. After that, link the Spitfire into the console and run a bi-directional feed to the vital signs monitor over the client's bed. It has a webcam, and we can use it for a comm. terminal."

  “I'm on it,” Joe replied with a toothy grin.

  “And Joe,” John-Pierre added. “Whatever you do, do not open the ground level hatch, or you'll eat a bullet for sure."

  “I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid,” he chortled as he picked up the gear and headed for the access to the long, narrow, circular shaft that led straight up from the side of the command center to the ground above.

  John-Pierre focused his attention on Danielle. “Let's not kid ourselves. Whoever is hitting us is good. I mean real good. My guess is that it will take them about ten minutes to secure the ground above and then they'll move on us down here in the silo. While ten minutes is not much, it does give us some time to set up an inner defense with the hope that we can hold them back long enough for the Turks to get here."

  “Who do you think we're up against? The American Delta Force, Black Berets, what?"

  “No, even if the Americans knew what we're doing here, they would never dare run an op against the UNE. No, it is freelancers, and they want the boy alive; otherwise, we'd all be dead by now. That may be our one real edge right now."


  “So do we set up a defensive perimeter here in the command level or in the accessway between here and the central storage and maintenance area?"

  “Neither. As soon as Joe gets the Spitfire working, I want you to send an alert to Houston and get the Turks here as quick as you can. After that, see if you can link to one of the Air Force surveillance birds. We may not be able to see anything with our own ground level cameras but at least we'll have an overhead view of what is happening topside. After that, I have a special task for you."

  He pulled a heavy stack of oval bulb shaped metal clamps out of the footlocker. “Just so you don't think Joe has all the brains, this was my idea,” he grinned. “I had these self-welding braces specially made after I first inspected the silo.” He pointed his chin up towards the crew quarters on the level above them. “After Yasin set up shop, he had the old door on the crew quarters replaced with a bolt-lock half-inch steel door with hinges mounted on the inside of the crew quarters. If these pricks make it this far, they know they'll probably kill the client if they blow the door with C-4 or pump it full of armor piercing rounds."

  He hefted up one of the self-welding braces and held it upside down. Danielle could see that it was bowl shaped with a flat recessed center and covered with an airtight aluminum and plastic seal, with a large red pull-tab at both ends. “This is basically an oval steel bowl with silica fiber compound center that can absorb heat up to 2,300 degrees. The face of the steel the brace is covered with an oxygen activated duraweld compound. To activate it, pull the seal off using one of these red tabs and stick it on the door. In about fifteen seconds, the brace will be welded to the door with about half the strength of a normal weld."