by Kevin Tinto
“Fischer’s dead.”
Leah was so stunned, she wondered if she’d heard correctly. “Dead? Why?”
Krause continued to struggle but said nothing.
Shave said, “Fischer had all the intelligence on the operation in Antarctica. That information was worth an incredible amount of money to the Russians.” He nodded toward Krause. “He’d already done a job or two for the Russians. The money they offered was off the charts. Krause said Wheeler was already headed for the looney bin. Christ, Wheeler has already told Krause to plan on getting rid of Fischer. Can you imagine?” Shave shook his head in disgust. “Nuts to think he’d get away with that.” He glared at Krause. “Oh, and concerning Mr. Fischer, we were supposed to get rid of him—just not quite yet.” He shrugged. “We figured once Wheeler was wrapped in a straitjacket, there’d be so much chaos, hell, we’d be long gone to the private island of our choice before anyone asked any questions.”
“And Fischer just told you double-crossers everything over a cup of coffee at Starbucks?”
Shave hesitated. “Wasn’t quite that easy.”
“How did you find out where Marko was hidden? Did you kill Luke Derringer?”
“We never saw him. We heard a Cessna taking off while we were driving toward the airfield in blacked-out 4-wheel drive trucks. If he somehow heard us coming, he had some kind of security—or he was damn lucky and somehow spotted movement in the dark.”
“How’d you find Marko?”
“The kid was caught on surveillance by drones working the airspace over New Mexico, using infrared sensors. He never would have been made, except he apparently started wandering around outside his hidey hole at night.”
“Marko Kinney was harmless. Why would you kill him?”
Shave nodded toward Krause. “Orders were to eliminate the kid.”
“What do you know about the Native Americans?”
“Nothing. That was a Delta Force operation. We were to wait until signaled, then accompany the Chinook to the recovery LZ. From there, we were to take you in the Black Hawk, separately.”
“Lemme guess,” Leah said. “I was supposed to end up in another body bag.” Shave simply looked down. Leah continued, “If Fischer’s dead, someone else is in charge. Who?”
Shave hesitated, then nodded at Krause. “He says this came right from the top, the very top—Wheeler.”
“What about Al Paulson and Jack Hobson?”
Shave shook his head. “I don’t know anything about them.”
Krause looked up at Leah, a twisted grin on his face. “Satisfied?”
“Momentarily,” she said. Leah motioned toward Appanoose, then pointed two fingers at the goons, then one at the ramp. Appanoose gave one sharp head snap, walked over, grabbed one man with each hand, and dragged them toward the back of the Chinook.
Krause’s smug demeanor changed in an instant. Sweat flooded his face and his cheeks puffed as he struggled to breathe. Shave was too stunned to react. Appanoose looked down at the two as they struggled, then up at Leah.
She gave one nod, and the two went out the back of the Chinook without so much as a scream.
Leah didn’t have any time to process what she’d just ordered, when there was a sudden commotion on the opposite side of the Chinook. It took only a moment for Leah to jump up and rush over to where K’aalógii was having what appeared to be a grand mal seizure. Appanoose had been even faster than Leah. He turned K’aalógii on her side so she could breathe and placed one hand on her forehead and chanted.
Whatever Appanoose had done, whether it be something to do with his genetic engineering, or just old-school shamanizing, K’aalógii’s seizure slowed and then stopped altogether. She appeared to be in a deep sleep, resting comfortably. Several of the fierce femes had also come to K’aalógii’s assistance and had her head cradled. They spoke up against her ear in soft tones.
Appanoose looked up and nodded, for once without the arrogant snap she’d almost gotten used too. This nod was gentle, even reassuring that everything would be okay. K’aalógii wasn’t in any danger—at least at this moment.
She was relieved that they were headed for Holloman, and would be there in a matter of minutes. Gordon, or his medical team would be standing by, and K’aalógii would be in the best care possible. It had been nearly a week since K’aalógii’s testing, there was a good chance that Gordo would have more information about their medical condition, and perhaps, how to treat, even reverse if possible. She pushed her way up to the cockpit with one order: ‘Put the spurs to the Chinook.’
Chapter 56
Paulson had tried a cold shower first. That helped some. Still, he was beat. It was hard to slow down one of the most energetic men on the planet. Billionaire businessmen, who started with nothing didn’t get to the top of the pyramid unless they could out-work, out-play, out-socialize, and out-strategize any and all competition.
The shower was connected to his personal office suite, part of a large hangar and building complex at Westchester County Airport that made up his charter and warbird business. After landing the T-38 at Westchester, midnight eastern time, he’d called Ridley at Camp David using a burner phone, bypassing the government-issue satellite phone.
If Jack’s sat phones had been disabled intentionally, whoever was behind it had left the Stateside satellite phones working. That made sense if Wheeler was pulling the strings. A good way to eliminate Jack Hobson but not raise hell in Washington.
He’d ordered up a helicopter to fly Ridley from Camp David to Westchester. He told Ridley to have the mechanics still holed up in the Aspen Lodge to maintain a low visibility status—and if they had those shotguns they’d taken off the skeet range, have them handy. His helo order had gone through without a problem. Wheeler seemed to be playing carefully with Paulson.
Paulson had ninety-nine problems, and sleep was pretty much at the bottom of the list, for now. Most pressing: Jack Hobson stuck in western Iran with no way out. Even though he was under the protection of Hawar, news spread fast within tribal communities. The missing Cessna and missing Luke Derringer was also a concern, but given Jack’s situation he had to hope that Luke had flown the coop and was holed up out at some log cabin sitting next to a long stretch of hardened desert he’d used as a runway.
It was only a matter of time, perhaps even hours, before it become common knowledge a westerner was hunkered down in Kurdistan. A million dollars in that region bought a lot of weapons and power. It was just a question of time, and nationality, to see who’d drop a dime in order to win the warlord lotto.
His other problem was Wheeler. Had he ordered the murder of Fischer? Why? It made no sense. Leaving a dirty crime scene was sloppy and reckless.
It seemed more logical that someone else was behind this. Perhaps the messy murder scene was planned, a way to be rid of Wheeler in such a way that it created mass confusion and opened the door to a wide range of political and constitutional crises.
Some sort of coup? he asked himself. Really?
If this were the case, it had to be military-driven. The Hafnium warhead would have marginal value with the military. These boys had millions of megatons available elsewhere.
Hell, for all Paulson knew, he might be approached to participate in this coup, using his sway over the politicians who opposed Wheeler. In that case, the conspirators would be way too busy to worry about Leah at the Settlement.
The Hafnium warhead only worked as long as everyone agreed to play by the rules. Once Fischer was tortured and murdered—someone had already set off the equivalent of a political nuclear weapon.
Paulson pressed a speed dial number for Teresa Simpson’s private cell after glancing at his Breitling. After two in the morning—and the day had yet to get started.
“Hello?” she said sleepily. The burner wouldn’t come up with any identification. Only Karen had all his numbers set up in her systems. “Teresa�
��It’s Al.”
“Al? Why are you calling me using a phone without a—” She’d figured it out fast. “Look, our situation had gone bad,” he said. “I’m going to take a risk, hoping your own phone isn’t under surveillance. If so—if can’t be helped.” Paulson gave Teresa a sanitized version of finding Fischer and a bullet-point list on what he thought could be happening, from Wheeler going over the edge to a coup d’état.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“This is a tough one, T. My advice would be to get out of Washington. Find some cabin out in the backwoods of Maryland and stay out of sight. Kill your phones, stay off the internet—you know the drill.”
The phone line went quiet for a moment. Then Teresa responded, “You said Wheeler was acting odd last time you saw him. Out of character. I think the best course of action is for me to sit in on any White House meetings as your deputy tomorrow. As far as I know, you’re off to see Gordon for an update, if anyone asks. Nothing can happen to me at the White House, and being there might give me a feel for what’s happening. When you get back with Jack, we can team up and figure out how to ride this out—one way or another.”
Paulson could not dissuade her from her plan. The former BLM chief was damn near as stubborn as Leah. Finally, he agreed, on the condition that she not return home at night. “Stay over at a friend’s house. Make up any excuse, but don’t tell anyone where you’ll be. Oh, and Teresa?”
“Yeah?”
“You have a handgun at home, by any chance?”
“Sure”, she said. “Unregistered. The only way they get that baby is prying it from my cold dead hands.”
“Strap it,” Paulson said. “But you’re African American with a concealed weapon in DC, so don’t get pulled over. Christ—I’ll never get you out of jail if that happens.”
Teresa chuckled. “Truer words….” she said and signed off.
Paulson ordered up another pot of coffee, then studied the aviation charts that he’d laid out on a conference table. The charts covered the Atlantic Ocean, the Med, and most of the Middle East.
Assuming this abandoned airfield in the northwestern corner of Iran was still uninhabited and the runways still solid enough to land and take off, he still faced other challenges. The runway had to be clear of rubble. All it would take to strand them in Iran would be a punctured tire, or, worse, debris in the turbine, creating a multi-million-dollar yard sale when the blades, spinning north of ten-thousand RPMs, exploded into thousands of shards hurling out at super-sonic speeds.
Paulson sighed and rubbed his eyes with both hands.
He had to get into and out of Iran, refuel, and get home.
He needed a plan and he needed it fast….
Chapter 57
Leah told the pilot to make a standard approach into Holloman. One thing on her side were the orders the Base Commander, Colonel Kelleher, had been given.
There is a classified operation (Top Secret—National Security) near Holloman Air Force Base. Unless notified otherwise, expect to host inbound and outbound air assets attached to this operation. Two interconnected aircraft hangars will be tasked to this operation, indefinitely. The hangars are off-limits to all base personnel. Discussion, theory, supposition, and rumor about this operation is strongly discouraged. Consider information attached to this operation: Sensitive and Compartmentalized.
The two hangars had been codenamed Dragon One and Dragon Two. Leah had rolled her eyes when she heard the code names. Now, she told the pilot, “Have the Chinook towed into Dragon Two,” she said. Dragon One was where Gordon had set up his small medical city; Dragon Two was empty, used mostly for storing supplies and providing classified access and egress.
“Yes, ma’am,” the pilot replied, anxiety evident in his voice. No one wanted to be next to earn their wings Leah Andrews-style.
Leah leaned over the pilot. “Has the Delta Platoon checked in?”
“Yes, ma’am. They’re pissed off. We haven’t returned any of the radio traffic.”
“Good job. I don’t want to have to drop that ramp again. It gets cold inside with all the heat blown out the back.” That’s all she had to say, because the pilots looked straight ahead and nodded stiffly in reply.
She’d planned to personally cut Gordon’s throat, should she get ahold of him—thinking he’d been the rat who’d sold them out. Thanks to the mercenaries, she’d found out otherwise. With K’aalógii suffering epileptic-like seizures, she needed someone she could trust and count on. Jack was lost in Turkey and her closest Ancient confidant, someone she’d come to lean on heavily, Garrett Moon, was dead.
***
The approach into Holloman proceeded without a snag, and the Chinook was towed into the hangar. Before she ordered the ramp lowered, Leah picked up the assault rifle belonging to Krause, the same one she’d used to empty a magazine into the Black Hawk, before leaving the meadow. She fished around inside the ammo bag and pulled out a loaded magazine, then walked over to where Hutchinson sat against the fuselage, still wearing his plastic restraints.
“You know what this is?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hutchinson said. “Heckler and Koch MP5.”
“It’s empty. How do I reload it?”
Hutchinson glanced over at Cruz, not looking too happy.
“C’mon, Captain. If I wanted you dead, I’d have tossed you out.”
Hutchinson said, “Pull back on the charging handle on the front of the weapon. Pull out the empty magazine, push a loaded magazine in, release the charging handle. It’s ready to shoot. You might want to push the small lever up, so the weapon is on ‘safe’ first.”
Leah pulled the charging handle back, used her fingers to release the empty magazine, slid a full magazine in and released the charging handle so that it slid forward. “That’s it?” she asked.
“The safety is off—push the lever up.”
Leah ignored Hutchinson and then leaned into the cockpit. “Lower the ramp.” She looked for Appanoose. He sat on the webbing without expression. He simply nodded at Leah but didn’t move. This is your show, the nod said.
Leah drew a breath, pulled the HK up into firing position, and walked down the ramp. The only person standing inside the hangar was Gordon, who looked the worse for wear.
“Sorry for waking you up, Gordo. As you can guess, our whole Settlement idea has gone to hell in a handbasket. I have the Ancients.” She had to stop and force herself from not letting go, crying right on the spot. “Garrett and Marko. Both dead.”
For a moment, Gordon did a fish-pulled-up-from-depth imitation. His eyes looked like they were bulging, and his mouth opened and closed. He paled visibility.
“Look Gordo. We have plenty of time to sit down and bawl our eyes out over a bottle of Jimmy Beam. Right now, we’ve got to focus.”
All Gordon could manage was, “You have the Ancients? Are they safe?”
Leah nodded. “I don’t know for how long. We’re pretty much trapped here at Holloman.”
He shook his head, still partially dazed. “I always wondered, if we were visited by extraterrestrials, what the outcome would be. As it turns out, we’re the real monsters.”
“Don’t cut them too much slack, Gordo. Remember why we’re in this situation.” She pointed the assault rifle toward the Chinook. “Although K’aalógii is resting comfortably, she needs medical attention. She suffered some kind of seizure on the Chinook on our approach to Holloman. Appanoose was able to soothe her and she’s sleeping now. I know the helicopter ride, and everything that has gone down tonight has been stressful, but I’m pretty sure this has more to do with the physiological changes. Sorry I’ve been out of touch,” Leah added. “My past few days have been—out of the ordinary is all I can say right now.”
“Take me to her,” Gordon said.
Leah led Gordon up the Chinook ramp. K’aalógii lay on t
he aluminum floor, covered with blankets. He leaned down and examined her for a minute.
“Her heart rate is accelerated. Appears she’s running a fever, but hard to know exactly what her normal temp should be.”
“Could it be stress?” Leah asked.
“Stress could make her metabolic anomalies symptomatic,” Gordon said. “You asked me what we discovered while having Ms. K’aalógii as our very helpful guest. Their metabolic deviations are accelerating. Almost as if they are being re-engineered to thrive in a different biosphere.”
Leah thought back to the vision quest—and what she’d experienced. “Would this biosphere include a thin atmosphere, cold temperatures, and steep, mountainous terrain?”
Gordon stopped the examination. “Exactly. A substantial increase in red blood cell counts, increasing lung capacity, larger, more powerful heart, presenting with elevated rate, hyper-metabolism, body temperature intensification, skin thickening, accumulative muscle mass. How did you know?”
Not the best time to recount about my lodge ‘trip.’
Instead, she asked, “Could our atmosphere become toxic to someone undergoing these—modifications?”
“Impossible to say. We are in uncharted waters, medically.”
“Can you slow this down?”
“Unknown,” Gordo said. “However, if stress triggered the symptoms, a strong sedative may reverse them, temporarily.”
Appanoose walked over to Gordon, looking him up and down, and not in a manner that put the doctor at ease. The shaman made it obvious he remembered Gordon from their removal from stasis—and the awkward, initial medical testing that had taken place soon thereafter.
After making Gordon suitably uncomfortable, Appanoose turned toward Leah. He crouched and lightly touched K’aalógii on the forehead.
He said one word: “Ashch’ąh.”
“What did he say?” Gordon asked.
“A state of sleep from which one may not wake up. A more modern translation would be: coma.”
“Miss K’aalógii is not in a coma,” Gordon said.
