Area 51: The Grail-5 (22 page)

"It has been my expereince that no one offers something of value unless they can get something more valuable in turn."

"So what are these stones?"

"They are Airlia artifacts," Sherev said. "The rabbis believe they are an important part of the garments the High Priest wore when attending the Ark of the Covenant."

The third engine was powered up, the noise making it difficult to talk, the wind blown back from the blades causing them to lean into it.

Sherev shouted. "It seems as if legends are coming alive."

Turcotte nodded, anxious to be going.

Sherev grabbed his arm. "Have you ever wondered why mere has never been peace in this part of the world?" He didn't wait for an answer. "There are evil forces about—these aliens and their human servants, I think they have spent much time here causing us grief. It is time we got rid of them. Anything you need, you call me."

"I've got to get going," Turcotte said.

Sherev nodded. "Good luck."

Turcotte ran up the back ramp to the MC-130. The crew chief immediately pressed the button that initiated the hydraulic arms, raising the ramp.

Members of the team were opening cases in the rear half of the cargo bay. The front half was separated from them by a thick curtain. It was in that section that a large part of what

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made the MC-130 different from regular C-130 aircraft was housed. Rows of equipment manned by electronic warfare specialists filled the space. They could find enemy radar and defeat it. They could also help the pilot fly in limited visibility at extremely low level, below the probing fingers of radar.

Turcotte had chosen the MC-130 because it was the best chance they had of getting into the Nile undetected. The two pilots, along with the navigator in the cockpit, were the best the Air Force had.

A hand on his shoulder got his attention. Graves leaned in close so he could be heard above the roar of the engines. "We need to start rigging. Time to drop is only a little over an hour away."

Turcotte nodded. He staggered and grabbed ahold of the red cargo webbing lining the skin of the airplane as the plane began moving, taxiing toward the end of the runway.

Circling at thirty thousand feet over the Mediterranean, the Airborne Warning And Control System (AWACS) was a modified 707-320B full of electronic equipment rather than passengers. The thirty-foot dome radar on top of the fuselage was able to "paint" a complete picture of the airspace for four hundred miles in all directions, once every ten-second rotation.

Colonel Mike Zycki was the AWACS commander and his plane's abilities were supplemented by a secure link to the National Security Agency (NSA), which tied him into the network of spy satellites that Agency oversaw.

"We've got Area Five One Six on screen," one his officers reported. "Wheels up from Hazerim."

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"Status of Egyptian air defense?" he asked his electronic warfare officer.

"Level four. Not quite war footing, but they're definitely awake, as if they're expecting something to happen. I'm forwarding what we have to Area Five-One Six. I think I can paint them a clear alley to their drop point."

"And out?"

"And out."

"Do it."

AIRSPACE, SINAI PENINSULA

Turcotte slid into the TASC-suit, fighting a momentary feeling of claustrophobia, as the back half sealed against the front half. He'd never liked being in an enclosed spaced. During scuba training, the worst part had been practicing "lock-outs" where he would have to climb into a submarine's escape hatch, then sit inside while it filled with water, before opening the outer hatch.

He felt the inner padding of the suit mold against his body. His fingers fit into the command pads at the end of the arms.

"Power on," he ordered.

The screens on the inside of the helmet came alive and he could see the interior of the combat talon, lit with the red night-lights.

"Low light enhance," Turcotte said.

The screens flickered, then he could see more clearly as the mini-cams on the outside of the suit went to night-vision mode, the computer enhancing the available light. Turcotte had a slightly curved screen four 189

inches directly in front of his eyes that filled his field of vision and on standard view gave him the view that would normally be right in front of him.

He could give commands to have the screen display other camera angles.

He also had a small flip-down display halfway between the screen and his left eye that was made of clear plastic on which was reflected whatever data from the computer he wanted. During the testing Turcotte had immediately developed a sharp headache from trying to watch'the screen and read the data.

He'd talked to Apache gunship pilots who had a similar display built into their helmets and they'd told him it took months to develop the ability to naturally do both. They didn't have months to prepare for this mission.

Turcotte felt a moment of doubt, which he quickly squashed.

Carefully, Turcotte stood. They'd attached an interesting appendage to the end of the legs: a flat platform that extended forward about ten inches. It gave stability like feet, but built into the center of each "foot" was a six-inch-wide hole in which a small turbine fan was mounted—the propulsion device once they were in the water.

Power for the TASC-suit came from banks of advanced lithium batteries built into the armor of the suit. To Turcotte that was the major disadvantage—they had four hours of operating power, then they would need to recharge. They had to be in, rescue Duncan, recover the Grail, and be out on the exfiltration aircraft in less than that time. Graves's plan, the best his team could come up with during the isolation, had estimated three hours to do all that. But they were working with a lot of unknown variables, such as the rather glaring question of where exactly the Black Sphinx was located and how to 190

get to it. From experience in Special Operations, Turcotte knew everything always took much longer than one planned.

With the aid of the airplane's loadmaster, a pack was attached to the lower back of the TASC-suit carrying gear Turcotte had specified. Above it was placed the specially designed parachute that would allow them to drop at very low altitude.

Turcotte then had a Mark 98 attached to his left arm. Extra ammo cylinders were strapped along his chest, down to his stomach. He was glad to have the power of the suit, because he estimated he was at twice his normal weight. He checked the hookups to the trigger and sight. The trigger was activated by his left forefinger inside the suit, and the laser sight picture would be duplicated on screen for him.

On his right arm was placed a "hand." It was controlled by moving his hand inside the end of the arm, which relayed to the metal fingers. Also on the mechanical hand, securely fastened to the middle "finger" with wire, was Kopina's Watcher ring.

He was ready to go.

"Area Five-One-Six is in the alley and clear so far," the EW officer told Zycki. He pointed at a spot on his screen. "The only problem spot is this radar site here. They might get an echo from the plane as it hits the Nile."

"Can you cloud it?" Zycki asked.

"Yes, sir. I've got the frequency and I'll run some interference when the Talon gets close."

"Any other unusual activity?"

"We tracked a private jet into Cairo five minutes ago 191

that was flying low level on an end run around the Sinai. We're not sure what that was about." "Concentrate on One Six."

Turcotte was amazed at the technology and what it could do. Sitting on the seat, he could look in all directions without moving, just by accessing the various mini-cams on the exterior of the suit.

Looking about the cargo bay was surreal. Not only because he was viewing it on screen, as if he were taking part in a movie, but also because of the mission they were going on.

Black-suited, seven-foot-tall figures moved about, getting rigged, checking their gear.

A voice came over the FM net. 'Twenty minutes till drop."

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Lisa Duncan stirred as she heard the thud of boots coming down the tunnel. She stood, stretched, and felt the pang of hunger in her stomach. Worse, though, was the dryness in her mouth. She was parched and knew that she could not go on without water for much longer.

She went to the veil and edged it aside so she could see. Aspasia's Shadow stood there, a pair of soldiers behind him. One had an intricately carved wooden box in his hands.

"You were here when this place was built, weren't you?" Duncan asked before he could say anything.

Aspasia's Shadow nodded. "I was here. Aker, one of Aspasia's lieutenant's, hollowed out the six chambers. He bore the tunnels to link them. He placed the Black Sphinx in this chamber and directed the carving of the stone sphinx above. This was long before the time your scientists think the stone sphinx was carved. This area was very different then. It was a lush land, fertile for many miles where there is now desert. That was why we chose to come here after Atlantis."

"If you helped build this, how did you lose control of it?"

Aspasia's head snapped toward her, anger in his eyes. "I was betrayed."

"How? By whom?"

"By Aspasia, of course. He removed something I needed to rule. His machine was afraid I would get too powerful while he slept."

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"What was taken?"

"The master guardian."

"To Mars?"

"No. It was hidden here on Earth. I have searched long and hard for it, as I have searched for the key to the Grail. And you wonder why I care not for those who still live on Mars? They cared little for me all these years. But now my time comes!"

"There are some who won't allow that," Duncan said.

Aspasia's Shadow laughed. "Do you know what you are?"

"What do you mean?"

"What humans are?"

Something was at the edge of Duncan's consciousness, just like it had been when she had first seen the Grail. She knew more than she could bring to her conscious mind, which scared her. How had she gained this information?

"We're intelligent beings who deserve a place—"

"Intelligent?" Aspasia's Shadow laughed again.

Duncan remembered the strange planet she had seen in the vision from the Ark. "I'm standing here, where you want to be. If I'm not intelligent, what does that make you?"

The smile was gone from his face. "Are you ready to negotiate?" Aspasia's Shadow asked, the words echoing in the chamber.

"Are you making me an offer?" Duncan asked in turn as she stepped outside.

Aspasia's Shadow held up a canteen. "Would you like to drink?"

"What do you want in exchange?"

"The Grail."

"You're joking, right?"

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"I never joke," Aspasia's Shadow said. "You will not last much longer without water."

"Then I die here, but at least you don't get the Grail."

"Those who you work with don't know who you are, do they?"

"I will not give you the Grail," she repeated.

"Perhaps if I made you a better offer," Aspasia's Shadow said, "you would change your mind."

"There is nothing you can offer me that will get me to give you the Grail,"

Duncan said.

"Do not be too sure of that," Aspasia's Shadow said. "What if I give you the greatest treasure one can give?"

"And what do you believe that to be?"

His answer was succinct. "Immortality." He signaled and the soldier with the box stepped forward, knelt and placed it on the floor several feet in front of him. He opened the lid, then went back to his position.

Duncan took a step forward without thinking, then halted. She felt the weight of the essen on her shoulders, the crown on her head. She could see the two stones set inside the box. "What do you have?"

"The Grail is worthless without these. They were called the urim and the thummin, long ago by those who really didn't know what the Grail was—just like you. Those names are as good as any. Even I no longer remember their real name."

"The Grail isn't worthless without those." Duncan was trying to collect her thoughts. "It just won't work without them. But the Grail still has value. We are still in a standoff."

" 'Work'?" Aspasia's Shadow repeated. "What exactly do you think the Grail does?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"If I give one of the stones to you," Aspasia's Shadow asked, "will that end the standoff?"

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"And allow me safe passage out of here with the Grail and stone?" Duncan knew it was foolish even to ask.

"Of course."

"Now you lie."

"Perhaps. But you will die of thirst if you persist."

"Then the Grail remains safe in here."

Aspasia's Shadow snorted. "For how long? Do you think you wear the only set of priest's clothes? I am sure I can find another set. Or get through the guardians by other means. It will only be a matter of time, and that variable is on my side."

"Then wait for me to die," Duncan said.

"You do not ever have to die."

That gave Duncan pause. "What exactly does the Grail do? I know it is an Airlia machine, but how can it give a person immortality? That is not natural.

How can eternal life be manufactured?"

"The Grail does more than just give eternal life," Aspasia's Shadow said.

"But turn the question around. Why is there death? Perhaps it is death that has been manufactured? Perhaps it is death that is not natural?"

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"Ten minutes!" Captain Graves's black form was the rearmost figure in the cargo bay. The loadmaster was dwarfed by him, a slight figure in a green jumpsuit holding Graves's static line.

"Go to rebreathers," Graves ordered.

"Rebreather on," Turcotte ordered. The computer on his back immediately sealed the suit's air inlet on the back of the helmet and switched over to the internal rebreather.

"Stand up." Graves gave the command quietly, knowing that each man could hear him clearly through the suit radio.

Turcotte stood, reaching up and hooking his left arm over the steel cable that ran the length of the plane.