The Siberian Incident

by Greig Beck

  Sara was about to turn away but paused. “Nikolay, there’ll be many more fish farms in the future. I could certainly use a bright young man with an economics degree and lab experience.”

  The young man beamed. “In America?”

  “Yes, or at least somewhere warmer than here,” Sara replied.

  “Yes and yes.” His grin split his face.

  In the distance, they could hear the whoop of approaching chopper blades, and Carter listened for a moment.

  “Mi-26, Russian heavy transport chopper; military.” He turned to Red and Mitch. “Yo, we’re bugging out. Just bring anything that’ll make it through customs. On the double.” He turned back to Yuri. “Dispose of any remaining hardware.”

  Yuri nodded. “Into lake.”

  *****

  18 hours later, Carter and Sara were still traveling, but now safely on a plane over the Pacific Ocean and heading back to Madeira Beach, Florida.

  30,000 feet below, the sun made the water sparkle like diamonds on a blue blanket. Sara held a glass of orange juice and turned from the window.

  “We were lucky.”

  “Hmm?” He turned to her.

  “We always thought that the first contact with another species would be an opportunity for a meeting of minds. No one expected that visitors would see us as nothing more than raw materials. Or food.”

  “It was a nightmare,” he replied.

  “The last night at the mill house, it was a full moon.” She continued to stare straight ahead. “Do you think… they got their message out? Called home?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it,” he said softly. “I think Mikhail got them in time.”

  “I hope so.” Sara looked up into his face. “So, what now?”

  He reached across and took her glass, sipping the cool juice. “Back to the bar, I guess. By now, there’s probably nothing left but a smoking ruin.” He laughed softly.

  Sara didn’t return the smile and instead just sighed. She faced the window again.

  After a moment, he held her glass out to her but she didn’t take it. She turned to face him. “You don’t have to go back.” She continued to look into his face.

  He smiled down at her. “We made a pretty good team, didn’t we?”

  “You have your moments.” Her mouth quirked up, and she finally took her juice back. “Stay with me.”

  Carter felt a little lightheaded as he stared down into her beautiful eyes. “I can do that; stay with you. But what will I do in Florida?”

  She smiled and looked heavenward for a moment. “Well, I need a good gardener, and a maintenance guy. And a security guy.”

  He laughed and then leaned toward her. “Anything else?”

  “Oh yes.” She leaned across to kiss him deeply.

  EPILOGUE

  Pacific Ocean Approximately 124 Miles East of The Marianna Islands

  The object struck the water just after midnight and created a tsunami that swamped several miles of the Philippines, Papua New Guinea, the Japanese coastline, and also devastated most of Guam.

  At first light, spotter planes were dispatched, but no debris was seen on the surface. There would be no search of the seabed as the water here was far too deep. After all, the Marianna Trench was over 36,000 feet in this area.

  The search was called off quickly as the international authorities knew that anything down in those depths was going to stay down there.

  But down in that dark and crushing abyss, a green glow pulsed with life. Nearly seven miles down on the seabed, something the size of a city block that was smooth and organic bloomed open like a flower. The call had been answered, and the harvesting would begin.

  The End

  Read on for a free sample of Anomaly.

  SOME SECRETS SHOULD STAY BURIED.

  An Above-Top-Secret project brings military brass, elite commandos, ice-drilling experts, and abducted scientists to investigate a 100-mile-long 'gravitational anomaly' half a mile under the West Antarctic Ice Shelf.

  Their target: a spaceship buried for millions of years, home to a menagerie of alien and prehistoric horrors that could be unleashed on Earth and end every life on it.

  1

  The room at the Pentagon had been swept twice for sound-recording devices as well as for fiber-optic cameras, chemical detectors, heat sensors, or anything else that might allow anyone outside the room to know anything about what was inside the room. Every Pentagon office, meeting room, and kitchen and dining area was regularly swept for bugs, but of any single location within the world’s largest office building, Meeting Room 1138 was the most secure.

  It had been designed as an n-cube floating within the rectangular cuboid of the actual room, this “floating” created by a magnetic field array that blocked any electromagnetic signals attempting to enter or escape. A near-vacuum created between the two Matryoshka-like rooms prevented any vibration from the inner cube from being detectable. A two-foot-long retractable gangway extended from the floor where Elden stood to the floating cube as he approached; it stretched over what could be described only as a “silence moat.”

  Those whose presence was requested in the room not only had to turn in any weapons before entering 1138, of course; but they also had to leave behind their cellular phones, which were switched to airplane mode, then shut off completely, batteries removed, and deposited with security, who kept them within a signal-blocking lead-lined box. Also, any ferrous-metal items had to be given up as well, since the vigorous magnetic field all around the inner cube would literally rip any such material (ferrous metal was different from metal medically implanted in a person) from one’s pockets—if the owner was lucky. If the object was tucked away so as not to be torn out, the owner would become stuck inside the imaging cylinder, shoved and held fast against the wall by that magnetic object, until the power could be interrupted.

  Major Elden, USAF, wondered with amusement about the lead-lined box: Was the top brass concerned about Superman coming for their phones? The amusement turned into speculation—if there was anyone in the world who would really know whether superheroes actually existed, it would be those with free access to Room 1138. It was where the biggest of the big secrets were shared—and with only those who absolutely needed to know.

  Elden himself wasn’t allowed inside this room-within-a-room unless continuously in the presence of an individual who was authorized to enter. For this meeting, Elden was to be briefed by the mysterious Colonel John Ash on something “of vital national interest,” which could mean whatever Ash wanted it to mean.

  Rumors circulated that anyone disclosing even the tiniest sliver of classified information obtained in Room 1138—plus whomever it was disclosed to—would meet with mortal misfortune made to look like an accident. In any group as big as the Pentagon’s 26,000 workers, some necessarily die in accidents every so often, just due to the laws of probability. However, some of these “accidents” (the persistent rumors held) were actually the murders of those with loose lips. No one knew exactly who was getting whacked; and with no logbooks of any kind detailing who used the ultra-secure room, no one of a security clearance lower than those with Above Top Secret “Compartmented” clearance knew who went in or out.

  Major Elden had seen his entire life taken apart over the past two weeks, piece by piece, every fact examined and adjudged secure before moving on to the next. If Elden had to describe the experience—which he was forbidden from doing, anyway—he would have called it “an IRS audit on steroids, but with everyone you’ve ever known interrogated by agents of military intelligence like they’re at Guantanamo Bay.”

  It had been exhausting and a nightmare of scrutiny he thought would never end, but finally he was granted access to Specialized Compartmented Information, information that even the president was not privy to.

  Now, in front of the door, Elden looked to either side, wondering what he should do. He had no ID card, no key, nothing. Should he knock, or would that be ridiculous?

  He wanted you
in on this for a reason, Elden told himself. You are a resourceful, insightful man. Think. There is one chance to ace this final test. He just had to think.

  The gangway had extended for him even though he had no transceivers or such on his person to signal his presence. Now that he had stepped to the door, the gangway retracted.

  He thought about the extreme military security outside the door to the hallway leading to 1138. They didn’t ask for ID—he doubted they even possessed any information about whom they were allowing or refusing entry—Elden imagined that was so they never learned the names of those who sought access to the mysterious room. Name known or not, he had been scanned and x-rayed so many times just now that he thought they were going to give him cancer.

  Elden noticed there were no windows in any hallways this far deep inside one of the rings of pentagons that made up The Pentagon. He didn’t actually know where he was in the giant complex, since the elevators to this level had one button only, an illuminated plunger as large as Elden’s palm, and they could move parallel as well as perpendicularly to the ground. There were also no security cameras. There was nothing at all to show he was here. He didn’t even know where “here” was.

  That meant the point of entry to this hallway was the last checkpoint. And that meant that if someone made it as far as Elden had, there were no other security measures necessary—or perhaps even possible without giving away the existence of this room … or its location.

  That meant anyone approaching the door would trigger the extension of the gangway.

  That meant the door was open. It had to be—it didn’t even have a knob, let alone a lock.

  Elden pushed on the door, and it gently opened. A second door faced him on the other end of what Elden could think of only as a tunnel of plasma. Was it a force field? Did those really exist? He put his trust in Uncle Sam and extended his right foot out and then down onto the “surface” of the tube.

  It held. He took two steps forward and pushed on a second door, which opened to reveal an almost-smiling Colonel John Ash, wearing earbuds leading to a rugged case–protected smartphone, probably of CIA design. Seated in one of the chairs opposite Ash was Captain Davidson, an intelligence expert Elden had worked with several times. They nodded congenially to each other. Davidson was also wearing earbuds plugged into the device on the table. Elden entered the room and was immediately disoriented. It was eerie … what was it?

  Silence. All there was in the room with them was utter silence. Elden saw that Room 1138 was not only unconnected physically to anything else and floating within a vacuum to keep any concussive waves from traveling out of the inner cube; it was hellishly, fiendishly quiet.

  Room 1138 was an anechoic chamber, the kind that they use to test the sound of everything from surround-sound speakers to the buzz of a single LED. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room were crisscrossed with low-density gray foam that absorbed every sound, allowing nothing to even touch the walls, much less vibrate them.

  He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He could hear the saliva glands inside his mouth working to keep his mouth and lips moist. And he could hear something else, something like … the ocean? Crashing waves?

  After a moment, he realized that these sounds came from the colonel’s and the captain’s earbuds, which were inside their ears. But Elden could hear them over his own body’s cacophony. Ash motioned for Elden to come to him, saying something that the major couldn’t hear over the buzz and ringing coming from his ears themselves. The room ate the sound. Still, he could hear the ocean surf from Ash’s and Davidson’s earpieces. He wasn’t an engineer or a physicist, just a logistics man, so he didn’t bother trying to figure out the “why” of it.

  Elden went over to Ash and took the set of earbuds with built-in microphone being offered to him. He put them on and plugged into the smartphone. Almost instantly, he felt relief from the maddening, overpowering silence of the protected room. “Sir!” he said, and all three men jumped at the tremendous boom of his voice.

  “Whisper,” Colonel Ash said in a whisper himself, and this was when Major Elden realized that the device feeding him waves and seagulls was also connected to a unit allowing very quiet communication between the three men. A whisper came through as a shout. He didn’t want to imagine what an actual shout would be like. “Major, Captain, I don’t need to tell you that the very fact that you’re in this room means that any information you receive here is the most secret of Top Secret intel.”

  Elden nodded, not quite confident about speaking into the transceiver yet.

  “That being the case, I can tell you candidly that if any bit, one iota, of this information is shared with anyone outside this cube, you will be terminated. Not ‘fired’—terminated, as in ‘your widow will receive a check.’ That confidential information includes the fact that I have just threatened you with death. Give me a verbal yes if you understand and acknowledge this.”

  “Yes,” Elden whispered.

  “Yes,” Davidson croaked.

  “All right, well done.” Ash bid Elden to sit in the transparent-plastic chair opposite himself and next to Davidson at the rectangular transparent-plastic table. No bugs or anything of the sort could be planted in, on, or around these clear-plastic furnishings without them being utterly obvious. Ash leaned to reach an impenetrable-looking stainless steel case and pulled it over. Four more just like it remained to Ash’s right. He entered a code on the case’s keypad, and the lock released with a click that might as well have been a bomb going off in the silence of the room.

  As Ash opened the case, Major Elden and Captain Davidson instinctively leaned forward. Inside, custom-fitted within shock-absorbing black foam was a brilliantly translucent metallic tablet with indecipherable sigils and squiggles etched onto the surface. The two men examined the slate, then both looked blankly at Ash.

  “What you’re looking at is an artifact from an extraterrestrial civilization. Where the objects inside these cases were found is immaterial, so don’t waste your or my time by asking or speculating about it. Just know it is central to the mission I invite you to join this day.”

  “Is—”

  “Secure that thought for the moment, Major. Before anyone says anything further, I’m following Compartmentalized Intelligence protocol by telling you that you are required to leave this room immediately if you will not be taking part in the mission. You’ve both been down this road before, so please take advantage of this opportunity to walk away from this project if you are not fully committed.”

  Elden had been exposed to and followed this protocol in his intelligence logistics work, only once refusing a mission. However, he had always been given much more information before being asked to make a decision. All he had to go on was the exotic artifact Ash had just shown them. And that was enough: “I’m in, sir.”

  They both looked to Davidson, who seemed less certain about signing on. No one could know what was going on in his deliberations, but if Elden had to guess, it would be that the captain was unsure about committing to an undertaking in which any intelligence slip would result in death. However, the opportunity to learn and protect must have been too great to pass up, as Davidson nodded and whispered, “I’m in, too, Colonel.” He looked to Elden and acknowledged him as well. “Major.”

  All at the table seemed satisfied with one another, which was a solid way to begin an Above Top Secret operation. Colonel Ash began the briefing anew, but no longer pulling his punches regarding the actual information to be shared: “This … let’s call it a tablet. We have reason to believe that this tablet contains information coded into its strange alloy’s specific and exotic composition.”

  “Information regarding what, sir?” Elden said, intrigued by the idea.

  “The eggheads aren’t sure what it says, exactly, but they have been able to work out that these tablets respond to psionic waves.”

  This was no time for levity, but Ash and Elden cracked a smile as the excited Davidson asked, �
��Sir, what in the heck is a ‘psionic wave’?”

  “Psychic energy,” Ash said, his crinkly half-smile growing a bit at the sight of his subordinates trying their best not to react to his hoodoo. “But relax, that doesn’t mean you can read minds or lift buildings with telekinesis, any of that comic-book garbage. What it does mean, as far as our experts can tell without the tablet being ‘activated,’ is that the information contained within the alloy can be learned experientially. Indeed, it seems that the only way that its information can be sussed out is through a sentient lifeform’s physical contact. Somehow, this contact brings the psychic information within the tablet into the consciousness of that life-form.”

  The words hung in the anechoic chamber only because Elden and Davidson were plugged in and blocked against the silence by the continuous feed of crashing waves. After a moment, Davidson said, “If I may, sir: What does that mean, a tablet being ‘activated’? Does it require some power source in order to work?”

  “An excellent question, Captain. The tablets have no effect this far from their ‘power source,’ if you will. But in Antarctica, they almost crackle with energy. We believe that the hundred-mile-long gravitational anomaly buried half a mile under the western ice sheet of the continent is an alien spacecraft of tremendous age. Proximity to this spaceship seems to ‘activate’ the artifact.”

  “Please pardon my bluntness, sir,” Elden said, “but what do you mean ‘seems to activate’ the tablets? Has no one tried to access the, um, psychic information? Have there been no experiments in Antarctica, having some individuals connect with the thing to find out what happens?”

  “I don’t like questions,” Ash said. “However, this is need-to-know intel for you. We have not, in fact, allowed anyone to touch the tablet without wearing latex gloves. We know they forge a connection with the craft under the ice, but we have recruited scientists to do the experiential ‘dirty work.’ We don’t know if the slate’s information can be accessed more than once, so we want the eggheads to go in first and glean what they can from the psionic coding within the metal. Then they can tell us, we hope, the nature of the gravitational anomaly before we excavate it and protect it within the United States. I hardly need to tell you that an alien spaceship could contain weapons and defense technology that we want in no other country’s hands.”