He smiled, with understanding. “The tracks are covered with water!”
Tom said, “So it appears this tunnel has a small downward slope to it.”
Sam took a bearing with his compass. The dry tunnel ran southeast, while the flooded tunnel ran northwest. He tried to mentally picture where the railway tracks could possibly come out and how long it would take to drive.
Tom took a few steps and measured the width of the railway tracks. He grinned. “Well, what do you know?”
“Little, it seems.” A wry smile formed on Sam’s lips as he saw recognition in his friend’s eyes. “What do you see that I don’t?”
“Look at the width of the track,” Tom said. “It’s five feet.”
“So?”
“That means it’s Russian.”
“Why, what size tracks do we use in the States?”
“Four feet eight inches – what is considered standard around the world.”
“Russia doesn’t?” Sam asked.
“No. They use five feet exactly.”
“Why?”
“Defense.”
“Really?”
Tom said, “Concerned that their railway lines could be used by an invader, Russia purposely chose a railway gauge that was uncommon and different from their neighboring countries.”
“All right,” Sam said. “So, unless these tunnels perform a massive U-turn it looks like the lines to the U.S. are open, while we’re going to have to wait to take any trips to Russia’s for a while.”
He got back into the Humvee, worried they’d lost the stone for good this time. He followed the tracks to the east in his process of making a big U-turn and heading back to the cathedral grotto. Maybe there was still time for Elise to work out where the railway line came out.
As he turned left and away from the railway tracks, he stopped. There in front of them rows of large wooden crates were stacked three high. At the end of the crates, standing upright was the megalithic Death Stone.
Sam parked next to it and got out of the Humvee.
He and Tom both swept their flashlight in large circular swaths, searching for anyone waiting for them. Somehow the entire place appeared empty. Sam said, “Someone must have brought it down here to load on a train or something.”
Tom nodded. “Sure, but I can’t see the forklift they used to load it.”
“We need to get it out of here before whoever they are come back.”
Gallagher nodded. “Sure, but without anything to lift it with, you’re just going to have to wait until we can get down here with the Lift King.”
Confident they were alone for the time being, Sam approached the first crate. The lid had a series of metal latches that needed to be slid open to release it. He worked his way through each of them and then opened the lid.
Inside, packaged in rows of ten were Russian PKM heavy machine guns.
Sam said, “Holy shit!”
Tom opened the next crate, which was filled with dozens of AA-12 fully automatic shotguns and 28 round quick release magazines.
Gallagher said, “Good Lord! What is that?”
“If I had to guess, Mr. Gallagher, I’d say you’re a little late with your Siberian/Alaskan railroad. It appears mother nature beat you to it.” Sam glanced at the mass of weapons boxed along the side of the railway line. “And it appears arms dealers found it first. They’ve been using it to ship weapons across the Bering Strait.”
Tom said, “That might explain the series of accidents your first rescue crew suffered.”
Gallagher asked, “You think whoever put these here is still around?”
Sam said, “They’re not here now, but they’ll be back soon. That’s for certain.”
“And instead of killing my rescue team the old-fashioned way, they made it appear like they had fallen victim to a series of bad luck… as a ruse to try and sway the rest of my miners to leave the tunnel, fearing the ancient stories of Skinwalkers?”
“Yeah, I think you might just be right about that.”
Gallagher swallowed hard. “Then where are they now?”
Sam swallowed the fear rising like bile in his throat. “I have no idea, but I have no intention of waiting here any longer to find out.”
Tom approached from the other end of the pile of crates. “I’m sorry to tell you, but I think I found your missing Big Bertha crew, and what remains of your rescue team.”
“They’re dead?” Gallagher asked.
Tom nodded. “Yeah. Bullet holes in each of them. Clean head shots, too. Double taps. Very professional.”
Gallagher tensed. “What about Ilya Yezhov?”
“Who?” Sam asked.
“He was the leader of the mine rescue team we sent in to search for Big Bertha’s crew. Why didn’t they kill him?”
Sam swore. “He’s the one who must have done this. He knew about the arms smuggling operation and came down here to kill your men, and protect his shipment of weapons.”
Tom said, “Not just the weapons. He knew about the Death Stone.”
That thought sent fear up Sam’s spine. It meant this wasn’t all about the arms shipment. Someone in government was responsible for the Death Stone.
Could it have been possible that someone intentionally blew a hole in the ceiling of the cathedral grotto to sink the Gordoye Dostizheniye and bury the Death Stone?
Who could organize such a thing?
He turned to Gallagher. “Can you get a message to the surface?”
“It will have to be relayed through the communications cable by my men at the cathedral grotto, but we should be able to. What do you want me to tell them?”
“Tell them not to let anyone land on Big Diomede Island. Whoever’s behind this, you can count on them being back with reinforcements.”
“Okay, okay…” Gallagher said, adjusting his radio. “I’ll let them know.”
Sam watched Gallagher step away to make the communications. He came back less than a minute later. His face pale and tense.
Sam asked, “What is it? Did you get the message to the surface crew?”
Gallagher’s jaw was set hard. “Yeah, but they said that Ilya Yezhov was on his way back with a second rescue team to help.”
“You have to tell them to stop him from landing on the island,” Sam said, starting the Humvee.
“I did, but how?”
“Anything they can think of. Tell them to place a couple of cars on the runway. We all know its short enough as it is. I can’t imagine any aircraft could land there with a Humvee or two parked midway along.”
Gallagher said, “I’ll tell them.”
Behind them, Tom removed two AA-12s and several 28-round quick-release magazines and dumped them in the back seat of the Humvee. He then returned to the first opened crate and removed two PKM heavy machine guns and two boxes of rimmed 7.62×54mmR cartridges.
Sam asked, “What are you doing?”
Tom placed his cache into the back of the Humvee and then fed the 28 round quick release magazines into the AA-12 shotgun, and set it to fully automatic. “I’m trying not to go against my father’s most treasured rule.”
“What’s that?”
“Never enter a gunfight without a gun.”
Chapter Forty-Five
On-board the Maria Helena
The Maria Helena rested in the shallow waters of the Bering Strait, anchored only a few hundred feet off the coast of Big Diomede Island. Genevieve checked her watch. Sam and Tom had been underground for nearly fourteen hours now – an hour longer than she’d expected. It was probably time she warmed up the Sea King and went over to the makeshift rescue camp next to the main boring tunnel to retrieve them.
She stepped onto the aft deck. It was a clear day, with cerulean blue skies and no cloud in any direction. Her eyes stopped on a white speck to the west, and a moment later she realized it was moving. Genevieve heard the persistent drum of the twin-propellered medium sized cargo aircraft follow. She grabbed a pair of binoculars and examined
the cargo aircraft. It banked to the north, and she caught a better glimpse of her fuselage. It looked familiar to her, with its high-set cantilevered wings, twin turbo-props and stalky main undercarriage. Genevieve smiled with genuine surprise at the once familiar aircraft of her childhood.
It was an Antonov An-26.
Built in Russia during the Soviet era, the aircraft had been used since the sixties with production being ceased by the early eighties. Its development was initially funded by the military and based on the An-24T tactical transport aircraft, with a focus on heavy cargo transport. The main difference being that the Antonov An-26 used a retractable cargo ramp with the ability to carry much larger payloads over short distances.
This one was a civilian model. Its presence in the area, given their close proximity to Russian mainland, wasn’t so much of a surprise. Nor was the fact that the aircraft was approaching from the Alaskan peninsula and not the Siberian, because workers in the remote areas often came from both sides of the Bering Strait. What surprised her was the fact the pilot appeared to be on approach to land, although she couldn’t picture where. She mentally imagined their surrounding islands and coast. It was impossible to think that a pilot of such a large aircraft would try to land on the makeshift runway of Big Diomede Island, which was only designed to take single propellered light aircraft.
Genevieve switched on the radio inside the Sea King to listen to the pilot. The local airwaves were silent. She stepped onto the deck and tracked the Russian aircraft through binoculars. At a glance she saw that the pilot was banking to the left, with its landing gear down and its flaps set down. It was turning onto its final approach with the small, recently established runway.
What the hell’s it doing here?
She wondered if it was in serious trouble. The runway on Big Diomede Island was built to take light aircraft, single and twin-engine fixed wings, to charter the machine crew who worked on a fly-in fly-out basis. She’d flown over the runway herself in the Sea King. There was no way in the world a large cargo plane – especially an antiquated Soviet era military cargo plane – would be able to land on it.
They must have some serious trouble to even contemplate such a landing.
Her ears listened to repeated transmissions from someone on the ground on Big Diomede Island. They were repeatedly trying to contact the incoming aircraft, warning that a Humvee was currently broken down midway along the landing strip, and that it would be impossible to land until they moved it. The pilot remained silent, either because he couldn’t hear them or was intentionally ignoring them.
She focused her binoculars on the runway along the mesa in the middle of the island. A big camouflaged Humvee sat empty, parked in the middle of the runway.
What the hell’s going on over there?
“Matthew, Veyron, Elise, can you get up here?” she shouted.
She returned her focus on the Antonov An-26. Its pilot maintained position on a final approach. Surely, they realize there’s no possible way to land an aircraft that size on the runway? Especially now that there’s a car parked in the middle to block it off.
The aircraft was now flying about fifteen feet directly over the crumpled heap of rocks that lined the island and just before the runway. The Humvee was no more than a couple hundred feet away. She held her breath as she watched the debacle unfold. The pilot would be hard pressed to take off again before colliding with the Humvee.
Move the damned Humvee…
Her eyes darted toward the pilot of the aircraft.
Pull up! For fuck sake!
She then spotted two flashes. It happened so quick, and was so unexpected coming out of a civilian aircraft, that her mind struggled to accept what she’d seen.
And then it was over.
The Humvee exploded in a mass of fiery destruction, being thrown far to the side of the runway and the aircraft’s wheels kept rolling along the runway.
What just happened? Did the pilot really use air to surface missiles?
She kept the binoculars fixed on the aircraft. The retractable cargo ramp lowered to a horizontal position, and several motorcycles rolled out the back.
A moment later, the Antonov An-26’s nose lifted and the aircraft was back in the air, having completed its touch and go landing.
The rat-a-tat-tat sound of hundreds of firecrackers exploding now resonated from the island.
The radio in the Sea King was suddenly live with frantic messages. She stepped closer and heard someone shouting, “People are shooting at us! We’re taking fire!”
She grabbed the microphone. “This is the Maria Helena. Please confirm. Who are you being attacked by?”
There was no response.
Elise ran up the stairs from onto the deck. “What’s going on?”
“There’s trouble on the island. I’m not sure what, exactly.” Genevieve shook her head in disbelief. “But I think someone just said they’re under attack!”
Chapter Forty-Six
Genevieve sat in the cockpit of the Sea King helicopter, with its blades turning at speed. She would be in the air as soon as the other three were on-board. The radio was switched on, but there had been no more communications from the island. Even the sound of gunfire had finally died down to an occasional burst.
The copilot’s side door opened and Elise climbed in, looking like a petite version of Tomb Raider. At each thigh she wore an Israeli-built Uzi, and in her hands, she was carrying a large automatic rifle. She rested the weapon across her lap, closed the door, and removed the side window so that she could shoot if she needed to.
Genevieve grinned. “You brought an M24 bolt action sniper rifle?”
“What?” Elise shrugged, undeterred.
“To what might end up being just a demonstration by locals unhappy about the building of a tunnel through their sacred land?”
Elise smiled. “You said get the firepower.”
Veyron carried the Gatling style Browning .50 caliber heavy machine gun and attached it to its mount on the left side of the rear helicopter door. Behind him, Matthew carried a rocket launcher. Neither man spoke.
Genevieve glanced at Matthew. “You brought an RPG 7 rocket launcher. What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that?”
Matthew, by far the most conservative and mild-mannered member of the crew, shrugged. “Elise didn’t tell me what was going on. Just that the Big Diomede Island camp was under attack, Sam and Tom are still there, and you wanted us to bring enough firepower to end it. Did I miss anything?”
Genevieve grinned. “No. I’d say, that just about sums it up.”
Elise handed her a Glock 31. “Just in case we have trouble and you need to put us on the ground.”
Genevieve took it and nodded, not even wanting to think about what that would mean. She checked the magazine was full and holstered the handgun over the right side of her hip. Her eyes then swept the Sea King’s instruments. Happy with what she saw, she lifted the collective, and took off. The Sea King hovered twenty feet off the ground, before she lowered the nose and made a beeline toward the Island camp – leaving the Maria Helena alone to swing on her anchor in the idyllic waters.
Veyron asked, “Do you think it’s one of the local Yupik tribes?”
“Not likely. I heard machine gun fire in the background.”
It was a short trip. Less than a minute before they were overhead of the main camp, and roughly a mile from the entrance to the main boring tunnel. In an instant, she knew they were in trouble. Genevieve hovered for a moment, as her eyes swept the landscape. The entire place looked more like a warzone than a public construction site. Bullet holes riddled the buildings, dead bodies of the construction workers lay motionless where they were lively minutes earlier, and expensive machines now burned.
There was nothing left. Someone had killed every last one of them.
Genevieve rotated the Sea King in a wide circle. Nothing moved down below. “Can you see anything?” she asked.
“Nothing,” came t
he unanimous response.
Then, Elise said, “There. Nine o’clock. I have a visual on two motorbikes!”
Genevieve glanced at her nine o’clock position. There were two men riding KLR 650 endurance bikes, wearing completely black helmets and body armor.
It was as much as she was going to see. An instant later, she heard the sound of gunfire and shoved the cyclic control to her right, banking away from the shots.
Behind her, she heard Veyron release the Browning heavy machine gun. Bullets sprayed the ground where the riders had been moments beforehand.
“Anyone got eyes on those bikes?” Veyron shouted.
“I got nothing,” Genevieve replied.
Each of them searched their respective angles out of the helicopter. Genevieve swept the area with her eyes trained for any sign of movement. The bikes must have hidden somewhere, but where? There was no vegetation high enough to provide any concealment.
Her eyes stopped on one of the small lodges used to house the fly-in fly-out workers. “They’re in the buildings!”
A second later she heard the M24 bolt action sniper rifle fire. Her eyes shifted from Elise to the building below. A motorcycle crept out of the front door.
Elise squeezed the trigger again, and its rider fell to the ground.
An instant later, the second motorcycle shot through the back door and out onto the roadway that led to the main boring tunnel. Genevieve didn’t wait an instant. Instead, she dipped the nose and followed the motorcyclist.
Up ahead, she spotted another three bikes enter the tunnel. Her eyes fixed on one of them, who had now turned around, firing at them.
She banked to the right and then flew a wide arc behind the tunnel’s entrance. Veyron fired another burst of .50 caliber rounds, hitting one of the riders – and then all of the remaining motorcycles disappeared into the tunnel.
The Sea King carefully rounded the tunnel and came down to hover fifty feet away and perpendicular to the entrance, so that Veyron could line his heavy machine gun up neatly – but there was no sign of the riders.
Genevieve sighed. “All right, it looks like I’m going to have to put us down if we want to follow them.”
The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 3 Page 42
