Area 51: The Grail-5 (6 page)

"It makes sense. It is how those soldiers found us in the Archives," Yakov said. He ran his fingers through the thick lining near the collar, then paused before pulling out a small black object about a quarter inch long. "Here it is. Nothing very exotic. Standard GRU issue. Range about three miles, but very intense so they could track us through the tunnels under Moscow." He tossed it on the floor and smashed it with his boot. "Shall we continue?"

Turcotte paused, considering the Russian. It was indeed most likely the bug had been planted by Katyenka,

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but there had been much deception and betrayal since he'd arrived at Area 51

and he could not be certain. For a moment, Yakov's arguments to leave Egypt and come back here took a slightly different angle.

"Are you coming?" Yakov and the others were waiting.

Turcotte shook himself out of his suspicions and followed as they headed to the Cube. The main room of the Cube measured eighty feet by a hundred. Banks of computer screens gave it a similar appearance to mission control at NASA, but Turcotte noticed that three quarters of the chairs in front of those screens were empty.

"More ordered cuts in personnel," Quinn said, noting his look. "Someone's really trying to hamstring us. Again, I'm trying to backdoor requests."

Turcotte knew Quinn was an expert at manipulating government and military bureaucracy. With the proper passwords, the right communication channels, and experience, he could get just about anything eventually. It was something he had done while working for Majestic-12—a valuable asset that both Duncan and Turcotte had thought necessary to keep at Area 51.

Turcotte turned his attention to the front wall where a twenty-foot-wide-by-ten-high screen displayed a plethora of information.

"What's hot?" Turcotte asked, trying to make sense of the various displays.

Quinn sat down in the chair that used to belong to the head of Majestic, or MJ-12 as some called it. It was on a raised dais in the back of the room and oversaw everything that went on. There was the quiet hum of machinery along with the constant slight hiss of filtered air being blown into the room. The entire complex rested on huge shocks and was hung from large springs, 45

allowing it to sustain a nuclear surface blast. Turcotte had just prevented such an incident by bargaining with The Ones Who Wait, giving them the Spear of Destiny.

"The NSA is tracking that flying dragon thing that holds The Ones Who Wait who took the key from you in Mongolia," Quinn said.

"That 'dragon thing' is called Chi Yu," Che Lu said. "It is part of the lore of my land. When the yellow emperor Shi Huangdi ruled the northern part of China, Chi Yu ruled in the south. They fought and Shi Huangdi subdued the beast and took it prisoner."

"Which in reality—" Turcotte began, but Che Lu cut him off.

"I believe that Shi Huangdi was Artad, one of the alien leaders. And Chi Yu must be a machine fashioned by the other side—The Guides—to fight and terrify so many years ago. Shi Huangdi captured it during their battles and it must have been inside Qian-Ling."

"Is this machine back at Qian-Ling now?" Yakov asked.

"Negative." Quinn typed into the keyboard and then pointed at the main board. A map of eastern Africa appeared. "See the red dot? It stopped at Ngorongoro Crater briefly and is now heading northeast on a track that will take it to Qian-Ling. It's assumed the Chinese will pick it up on radar and try to intercept. ETA at Chinese border in eighteen minutes."

"Why did it go to Ngorongoro Crater?" Yakov wondered.

"I found the scepter key there," Mualama said. "And history records Burton spent quite a bit of time in East Africa exploring."

"It will be interesting to see how my government reacts to these events,"

Che Lu said, which earned her a hard look from Turcotte. On the international scene,

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China had always been an enigma, and with the advent of the discovery of the Airlia the country had cut itself off completely. Because of all the betrayals Turcotte had seen recently, a small part of him had to wonder if it was just coincidence that Che Lu had opened up Qian-Ling just after the Airlia had been discovered. And then Mualama had uncovered the key right after that. And Yakov had been wearing a bug when he arrived here.

"If The Ones Who Wait bring Artad up from the lowest level," Turcotte said,

"it will be interesting to see how everyone in the world reacts. We still don't know the truth about what happened among the Airlia." He turned to Quinn. "What else?"

The major hit another command. The map changed to show the southeast Pacific. "The shield is still protecting Easter Island. What remains of Task Force 78, with the addition of Task Force 79 and the aircraft carrier USS

Stennis, has backed off to a range of three hundred kilometers north of the island. We've lost all contact with the submarine USS Springfield. It is assumed it has been taken inside the shield and is lost to us. Official policy now is to stand off and watch, which doesn't please the Navy much.

"However," Quinn continued, "the last transmission from Springfield had some interesting data in it." He hit a switch and a large map of Easter Island appeared on the screen. "We think they found a hole in the shield wall. When the Washington hit the island, it tore up a big part of the ocean floor as it bottomed out. We think there is a very small gap in the shield where it cut through the floor."

"Can we get in?" Turcotte asked.

"Possibly," Quinn said. "But, as I said, official policy is to stand off and do nothing."

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"That doesn't do Kelly Reynolds any good," Turcotte said. "Can you get some SEALs?"

"I can't even get us MPs at the moment," Quinn said.

"That's because the Pentagon knows who's asking and what they're for,"

Turcotte said. "We still have the ST-8 clearance by presidential decree, right?"

Quinn nodded. ST-8 was the highest clearance possible and meant that orders issued using it had to be fol-owed as if they came from the National Command Authority.

"Then I'll just issue an order to get us some SEALs."

'To do what?" Quinn asked.

"Infiltrate Easter Island." Turcotte pointed at the screen. "It's a job the SEALs are trained for. Go in under the shield, see what's going on, rescue Kelly, and ;et back. I'll bet there's a SEAL team on board one of he ships of Task Force 79. Plus, I don't think the Navy will put up too much of a fight over the mission. I've got a feeling they want to know what's happening to the Washington and their people."

"It's worth a shot," Quinn said.

"And the Giza Plateau?" Turcotte had already moved on to more pressing issues.

"Satellite imagery shows it wrapped up even tighter with troops since your assault. The Egyptian government has closed it off and is complaining to whoever will listen that the United States violated their sovereignty."

"We have to go back," Turcotte said.

"That might be difficult," Quinn noted.

"Of course it will be difficult," Turcotte said. "But there's always a way."

"What about the manuscript?" Mualama said.

Quinn stood. "It's in the conference room."

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Turcotte paused. "I need a minute."

Quinn nodded and went into the conference room. Yakov put a large paw on Turcotte's shoulder. "Are you all right, my friend?"

"No," Turcotte said.

"I would have been worried if you said you were," Yakov said. "No one is all right. Only the smart people know that though. Especially now."

"Especially now," Turcotte acknowledged. "Give me just a minute and I'll join you."

"Da."

Turcotte waited until Yakov and Che Lu disappeared. He walked down the hallway to the latrine. There was no one inside. He sagged back against the door, feeling the exhaustion of constant tension in every fiber of bis being.

He slid down to his knees, then sat on the floor, his back still against the door. He put his right hand out, opened it wide, and stared at the scarred flesh. He could see the pregnant woman who died just before he grabbed the red hot muzzle of his team leader's gun in Germany as if it had just happened.

Another second earlier and she—and her unborn child—would still be alive.

The fingers of his left hand traced over the scar tissue in the palm of his right hand, remembering his failure. And his most recent failure had cost the lives of three men. Finally, he stood. He shoved the door open and went to the conference room. Inside was one other person beside Quinn, Mualama, Che Lu, and Yakov. Larry Kincaid was their authority on space operations. He was looking through a pile of photographs. Kincaid stood and shook hands as he came in.

Quinn stood near the end of the table and pushed a button on a lectern. A piece of the wood paneling slid up, revealing a six-by-six-foot video display.

Turcotte

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sat in the leather chair at the head of the conference table, Yakov to his right, Che Lu to his left, Mualama next to her. The screen turned .white, and then two lines scrolled up to the center and stopped.

"This is the prologue to Burton's manuscript which we've scanned into the computer," Quinn said.

THE PATH OF A TRUTH-SEEKER By SIR RICHARD FRANCIS BURTON

Quinn leaned over and indicated a key on the keyboard embedded under the top of the table at Turcotte's position. "You hit this to scroll up." Turcotte pressed it.

THE SEARCH FOR LEGENDS

Prologue:

I, Richard Francis Burton, have lived a long and wondrous life that now
winds its way into darkness. What is written on these pages was accumulated
over the last thirty-six years when my life took a turn that I could never
have imagined. I have tried to organize it as well as I can and I leave it to
my beloved Isabel to finish my work after my death. Without her, I would never
have been able to complete it; indeed my life would not have been worth living
without her light spirit to keep me from falling into the darkness of all I
have learned.

My involvement in the tale began when it reached my ears, in the city of
Medina, in the year 1854 of the Christians after the birth of their Lord, that
there was a man who knew much of the secrets of the world and the ancients. He
was not spoken of favorably but with fear. That did not dissuade me. I had
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learned early in my life that one must often travel into darkness to get to
the light.

I sought out this man, spoken of only in whispers as Al-Iblis, and was
granted an audience. Some said he was a sorcerer, others a creature of the
night whom mothers talked of to scare their children into going to bed on
time. Others said he was a religious leader, but of what sect no one was
certain.

I could sense much evil in his presence, but he overcame my fear by hinting
of strange and wondrous things. He pointed me to Giza, to the plateau of the
three great Pyramids and the great Sphinx. He told me to seek out a man named
Kaji, who knew further secrets and could show me something my eyes would not
believe. He gave me a medallion which he said would gain me an audience with
Kaji.

Al-Iblis wanted me to return to him, to tell him what I had seen, but I
knew even as I left his palace I would never be back there and never wanted to
be in his presence again.

He was right in his hints, for at Giza, under the guidance of Kaji, I saw
something hidden under the earth, in the bowels of the plateau; something so
strange as I can still hardly believe it, and was told a tale even stranger,
that every effort of my life from that moment to this as I write, the darkness
of death not far from me, has been dedicated to tracking down the Truth. It
became my tarigat; my spiritual path leading to the truth.

I barely survived that first step as Kaji tried to leave me to die under
the plateau, but that tale will be told elsewhere.

The beginning of this path, I eventually learned, revolved around
intelligent creatures who were not men, who were not even of this planet.

These came to

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our Earth from the stars before the dawn of recorded history and fought among
themselves for millennia, in the process changing much of mankind's history,
most often for the worse.

I have learned much of these creatures—the Airlia—and their followers who
walk among us. Once I overcame my shock at being told of their existence and
seeing the proof in the Black Sphinx hidden under the Giza Plateau, I set out
to learn as much as I could about them.

Over the years I have traveled far, read, seen, and heard much. What has
fascinated me most are the Legends that man has woven to explain things that
could not be explained any other way at the time.

Artifacts from these Airlia have become part of the lore of many lands,
being given various names. Most have been called no more than literary devices
by scholars with no basis in fact. I had always thought such thinking naive.

Now I know it to be.

What I have discovered is that the Legends are real, and they date back
before the shadows of what those same scholars call the beginning of history.

On these pages I will write of the Grail, the Spear of Destiny, Excalibur,
the Ark, and other objects shrouded in myth and legend.

Much of what I write on these pages cannot be proven. Most comes from
documents that I have translated with great effort from tongues that have not
been spoken for a very long time and from another tongue that scholars insist
does not exist despite all evidence to the contrary. Other information comes
from tales told to me in shadowy rooms by men and women, and even those who
are not completely human, whose veracity may indeed be questioned, but I
believe it all because of the pieces of the