by Kevin Tinto
“Excellent,” Leah said. “I’ll remember not to recite my ATM pin in you’re ever in line behind me.” Leah picked up Krause’s bag and fished around for the satellite phone that had been tucked in under the HK magazines and energy bars. “I cannot talk to this asshole without going ballistic. I’m trying to be a little more…user-friendly—with people that is…. Therefore, to avoid going off the rails, and embarrassing myself, probably even saying stuff that would be better off held close to my vest, you’ll have the pleasure.”
“This asshole?”
“President Wheeler,” Leah said, powering up the satellite communicator, hoping that the number she needed would be keyed into the phone on speed-dial or re-dial, and easily identifiable. Sure enough, the only number listed was labeled POTUS.
Hutchinson’s eyes opened wide. “You want me to talk to the president of the United States?”
“He won’t be for long, if that makes it any easier.”
Hutchinson stood at attention. “I’m good, ma’am—just a little shocked.”
“Get used to it, Captain. The shocks come at such a rate, pretty soon you’ll go numb.”
Leah dialed Krause’s sat phone and the president answered almost immediately. “Hello? Hello? Hello?” in rapid succession. The man sounded on the edge. She handed the phone to Captain Hutchinson.
“The President is on the phone. Introduce yourself, Captain. Tell him whose ‘wonderful’ company you’re in—where you’re at, and why.” She whispered, “Leave Krause out for the moment. We’ll get to that.”
Hutchinson did as he was instructed. He had to stop numerous times while Wheeler interrupted. Leah heard Wheeler’s voice an octave higher than normal, his breathing ragged.
“If he hasn’t yet had a stroke, Captain, I’d like you to tell him what happened to Mr. Fischer—not that we know, exactly.”
“Dr. Andrews said to tell you that Mr. Fischer is dead. Killed by Mr. Krause.”
High-pitched screaming dominated the other end of the line for a few moments.
Hutchinson looked over at Leah as he spoke to the President. “Ah…no, sir. Mr. Krause is not here. He went off the ramp of the Hook—I mean the Chinook, sir.”
Hutchinson nodded while decoding the screaming. “No, sir. He didn’t walk off. He was thrown off. Guesstimate, three-thousand AGL…and at cruise speed. Sir.” The line was dead silent. Then came measured, controlled questioning.
Hutchinson nodded once again. “Ah, no, sir. I’m not at liberty to discuss who exactly threw Mr. Krause out the back of the Hook.” He nodded again. “Three of his men were killed when Dr. Leah’s Ancients cut their throats, capturing my Black Hawk. Two others accepted the Red Bull Challenge as well, sir. That’s right. Off the ramp—approximately the same altitude.”
“Captain, before he has a stroke, kindly relate our conversation with Krause and company. Hit the highlights, as we discussed.”
After Hutchinson ran down everything that had happened overnight, there was a longer pause on Wheeler’s end of the connection. Leah wondered if the president had disconnected the call. Wheeler came back and Leah heard the president ask who, including Dr. Andrews, had overheard the conversations with Krause and his crew.
“There are multiple witnesses, Mr. President. Including military personnel unattached to the operation.” Hutchinson looked over at Leah and winked. “No sir, I’m not at liberty to disclose those identities—for good reason, as I’m sure you’d agree.”
The kid’s getting into the groove. Leah was thankful to have another ally. There was only one more item that she needed to have confirmed by an independent source.
“Time for the bombshell,” she whispered to Hutchinson. She nodded in the direction of the Hafnium bomb. “Tell him it’s Groundhog Day all over again, Captain. I have the Hafnium warhead in my possession.”
Hutchinson relayed the information, as told.
Leah pulled a zipper on her flight suit, and pulled out the plastic bag, covered in Marko’s blood, opened it and pulled out the typed sheets with both the code to the weapon, and the lengthy, and complicated initializing and de-initializing instructions. Leah was anticipating Wheeler’s next question.
“Yes, sir. She’s holding what appear to be codes of some kind. Little hard to see, sir, the plastic bag is covered Mr. Kinney’s blood. Sir.”
Leah indicated it was time to hand over the phone. Hutchinson handed it over and stepped away. “I’m really all out of threats, Wheeler. No matter how many times you get hit over the head with a bat, you return to the same self-destructive behavior. Believe it or not, I’m doing you a favor. I’m leaving the country for an active war zone….”
She paused a moment while he raged, waiting for him to fall silent.
“You can calculate the odds of me getting off the ice in Antarctica alive as slim—perhaps none. Why I’m heading to Antarctica is on a need-to-know basis—and you have no need to know. The Ancients are with me, along with Dr. Gordon and a select medical team.” She paused to draw a deep breath and refocus. Wheeler hadn’t even bothered to respond, so she took a two more breaths. “I honestly have no idea if Jack and Al, are alive. I’ve tried both of them on satellite phones. No success.”
“They are alive, as far as I know,” Wheeler said, breathless and wheezing. The stress of poor decision-making was having a lethal effect on his health. She could hear it in every labored breath. It was pointless to further humiliate or threaten a man who was soon to be dead. She needed him to do two more things.
“There are two C-17s here at Holloman. I need one to fly me down to McMurdo. My pilots tell me that it has a range of 7,000 miles, so we’ll need at least one inflight refueling.”
“Might not be possible,” Wheeler, said over the satellite phone, his wheezing getting worse. “The energy beam—triggered when you accessed the complex—has created a communication blackout over the Antarctic. Not just communications, all navigational tools necessary for aircraft navigation. We’ve already lost several aircraft under Visual Flight Rules and suffered ten fatalities when a transport went into the sea after losing contact on final approach with the Bush.”
“Then you better have a few good pilots here at Holloman, because I’m going even if we have to navigate with divining rods. Grant my wishes and you’re rid of me—once and for all.”
Chapter 62
Leah stood at the mirror in the bathroom, distantly regarding the stranger staring back. The creases in her cheeks and lines of fatigue around her eyes told a tale that she didn’t care to hear again. Leah leaned heavily on the sink; she didn’t have the strength to stand any longer. Not only was she bone-tired, she also faced an impossible road ahead.
Even if she got the Ancients to Antarctica, she lacked the skills to search for the second complex. The Ancients, on the other hand, had been bio-engineered to withstand cold temperatures and high altitudes. With Appanoose leading them, perhaps they’d find what he seemed so sure, was there.
Leah was almost to the point that she didn’t care anymore. Even if it was a certainty the Ancients would die on Antarctica, at least they’d be free and making those final decisions themselves—for themselves. She closed her eyes for a moment. Only the sound of the door to the bathroom opening prevented her from dropping into REM sleep still leaning against the sink.
“Dr. Andrews?” A soft female voice spoke.
Leah turned around. One of Gordon’s laboratory technicians stood at the door. She held several freshly laundered towels, a fresh flight suit, and toiletries. “We know you must be exhausted. I put together some things for you…. I can take you to our personal shower trailer if you’d like to freshen up?”
Leah struggled to ignore the cramping quad muscles in the front of her legs. A sure sign she was dehydrated, in addition to the crushing fatigue.
“That’d be nice,” she said, following the lab tech out of the bathroom a
nd into the adjoining hangar.
***
The twenty-minute hot shower, shampoo, soap, and skin cream supplied by the lab tech did wonders both for her state of mind and her body. Once she’d dressed in a fresh flight suit, with her hair pulled back into a single ponytail, her next thoughts were food.
Leah asked where she could get something to eat, and one of the medical personal pointed out a large trailer located in the center of the hangar. Leah walked over toward the trailer, still trying to free her muscles from the cramping. When she opened the door and stepped into the mess-hall-in-a-trailer, she was shocked to see the crew from both the Black Hawk and the Chinook sitting together at one table, drinking coffee and talking non-stop, hands flying as they no doubt described the flight from the meadow back to Holloman and everything that had gone down during said flight.
“What the hell are you boys doing here? I was pretty sure when I cut off the restraints, I said you were free to go. Why aren’t you being debriefed by the Base Commander?”
Captain Hutchinson looked at his fellow pilots and crew. They all nodded in agreement. It appeared he’d been tasked with whatever they wanted to say.
“Spit it out, Captain. You of all people know that I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, ma’am. Well, uh…we’d like to go with you—to Antarctica.”
“Yeah. Right. Look—you guys aren’t in any trouble. You were my hostages. Remember?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s just—well, we’re talking about history here. I mean, history that will stand right up with Moses on the Mount.”
She looked from Hutchinson to the other officers. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We were all onboard the Hook during the call with the President. We know that you’re headed to Antarctica to return the Ancients to an extra-terrestrial base—if it’s really there. I mean, if that’s not the bomb of all bombs to tell your grandchildren, I don’t know what is.”
Leah crossed her arms. She had to admire the chutzpah, even it reminded her a bit too much of Jack when he went over the top on some adventure. “If I said yes, you’d be classified AWOL and domestic terrorists. Your military careers would be over. If you survived, and the chances of that are near zero, you’d spend the rest of your life in Leavenworth. There won’t be any grandchildren, Captain.”
Before Hutchinson could continue, his co-pilot Lieutenant Cruz spoke up. “And we’re helicopter pilots, ma’am. You might need helicopter pilots, you know, to find this place, ferry the Ancients….”
Strange, it almost sounded as if he were pleading.
“I guess you guys didn’t hear a word I said… I’ll have to refuse your generous offer…”
All six of the crew hung their heads in a physical display of infinite disappointment. It wasn’t a stretch to remember how badly she’d wanted to go to Antarctica—how stubborn Jack could be when he had a goal in mind, no matter that it would kill him and whoever else he took along.
Six young, strong, well-educated men with piloting skills and combat experience, who say, ‘How high?’ every time I tell them to jump…?
“Okay. If you guys are trying to win the beat-dog Academy Award, you’ve done it.”
They looked up, fresh hope in their eyes.
“This is how it goes down. You are still my hostages. That won’t keep you from getting killed on the ice, but maybe keep you out of prison, on the slim chance you survive and make it home.” She pointed at Hutchinson. “I have a job for your crew. Get on the phone with the Base Commander. Do you know him?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Your job is to gather as much cold weather gear as you can. I told Dr. Gordon to do this, but he’s got plenty on his plate already. Those one-piece winter suits the aircraft handlers and mechanic use would be a good start. Parkas, hats, mittens, not gloves. Trust me when I say your hands will freeze in gloves, even during the summer. Kelleher will have already been told by President Wheeler to provide whatever we need. He may ask questions. Remember: You are my hostages. You know nothing.” Leah hesitated. “We’re headed into a war zone. Gather automatic weapons and plenty of ammo and magazines. No bazookas, though—got it?”
Hutchinson nodded.
“That was a test, Captain. You CANNOT gather automatic weapons! You’re a hostage. Don’t forget it.”
The look of horror on Hutchinson’s face would have Leah busting a gut in the old days. Instead, she simply continued, “Make up a list, tell Kelleher what ‘I’ want, then have him deliver it to Gordon.”
Leah addressed the Chinook crew. “The Ancients have metabolisms working way, way faster than ours. They eat—a lot. I need you to have the mess hall cook up, and package up as much corn and beans as possible. Also, get several cases of the MREs and a hundred gallons of water.”
The crews sat there, frozen in place. Leah clapped her hands. “That’s it, boys. Get to it!”
They stood as one.
“Wait” Leah shouted. They all froze. “Hutchinson. You stay for a second.”
The other five bolted.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“The warhead is still in the rear inside the Chinook.”
“Do you want us to load it into the Globemaster?”
“Negative, Captain.” Leah reached into her flight suit and brought out the two sheets of paper with the codes to the Hafnium warhead. “I think Freddy Kruger’s done his job. Do you have a lighter, Captain?”
“No ma’am. I don’t smoke.”
“Excellent, Captain. That was a test. If you smoked, I’d have to leave you behind. Second-hand smoke is a killer.”
Hutchinson stood frozen for a second, not grasping her sense of humor. Then he grinned. “No ma’am. Never touch those things.”
“Go over to the grill. See if they have wooden matches, or a lighter of some kind.”
Hutchinson was back in a moment with a standard barbeque-style grill lighter. He handed over to Leah. She lit the two sheets at the bottom with the lighter, allowing them to burn up until she had to drop them on an empty plate on the table. In seconds, all that remained was a pile of smoking ash.
“Tell Dr. Gordon the warhead is disarmed and now his responsibility. He’ll be thrilled.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”
“I have a whole list for you. Get to it.”
Hutchinson disappeared without another word. Leah sat for a moment, catching her breath. Then she stood and pushed away from the table. The mess-hall aroma was better than any Michelin-rated restaurant’s, and suddenly she was starving.
Chapter 63
Dr. Andrews.”
A hand was on her shoulder, gently waking her. Leah looked up. She was still in the mess hall. After eating the bacon, eggs, and a mound of hash browns, she’d fallen asleep right at the table, her head down on her folded arms.
Gordon stood over her. “We’re ready to go.”
“We are?” Leah glanced down at her watch. Had she really slept at the table for nearly three hours?
“We decided not to wake you—you’re exhausted. The C-17’s fueled, the crew is aboard, the young helicopter pilots have been a godsend. They gathered enough cold weather gear to outfit an entire brigade, the same for hot food in heated containers, plus water. They’ve all had medical training, which allowed me to leave my personnel here—most have families.”
“What about K’aalógii?”
“She’s under with Propofol. Doing fine. All her vital signs have fallen into a range I’m comfortable with—I did take a liberty with the Ancients, however.”
“Yeah?”
“I gave all of them, with the exception of Appanoose, a sedative. We want to avoid the stress of the flight bringing on symptomatic disorders, if it can be avoided.”
“Good, thinking, Gordo. What’s left to do?”
“Get you on boa
rd the aircraft—you’re the last one on the manifest still in the hangar.”
Leah stood and stretched. The cramps were gone and the food, along with the deep sleep, made her felt as if she might pull this off.
“Let’s do it, Gordo. We’re burning daylight.”
Gordon nodded, but before he could open the door leading out of the mess hall, Leah said. “Coffee. I gotta have coffee.”
In moments, the mess chef handed her a steaming cup, and a large thermos to go with it. “Thanks,” she told him. “You might have just saved Dr. Gordon’s life.”
***
The C-17 Globemaster looked large when parked down the tarmac. Now that it was backed up to Dragon Two, it wasn’t simply large, it was massive. Leah stopped for a second and stared at the behemoth. This’ll be like landing a 747 on a frozen lake. What could possibly go wrong?
Like the Chinook, it featured a cargo-loading ramp large enough to load battle tanks. The interior of the aircraft could have doubled for an airport terminal; it was that enormous. The forward part of the aircraft had been fitted with temporary airline style seating. The Ancients, sporting flight suits, slumped back in the seats, asleep. The exception: Appanoose. He stood with his arms crossed, studying the fuselage.
When he saw Leah, he ran toward the loading ramp, the excited expression on the normally stoic shaman’s face a shocking change from the norm. He hovered over her like a mother hen as she worked through the fuselage, grabbing her arm twice when she tripped on the equipment tie-downs. Leah whispered to him in Navajo. One head snap said he understood. She’d told him she’d be speaking with the crew, without using that exact terminology. That he should sit, that everything was yisdá. Translation: The Ancients were in a safe place.
On the way to the cockpit, she motioned to Captain Hutchinson. He jumped up and walked alongside. “You’re with me, Captain. I need to chat with the pilot of this rig.”
Leah squeezed into the cockpit shocked to see the gray-haired Base Commander in the command pilot seat. “Colonel, Kelleher. You really didn’t need to join us for what might be a one-way trip....”
