EarthRise (51 page)

The president of the United States, flanked by members of his bodyguard, sat with his back to the outboard side facing inward. The windows were low by human standards, and it was necessary to scrunch down in order to look outside. Not that there was anything to see beyond a thick layer of clouds. Franklin turned toward Manning. “I hope our friends know where they’re going.”

Now, with the skies pretty much to themselves, it was a relatively simple matter for the Ra ‘Na to ferry the allied assault team in from the assembly point near Bellingham, Washington. The lifters, which could make vertical takeoffs and landings, were considerably slower than shuttles but boasted a much greater payload. Manning frowned. “The pilots seem pretty competent to me . . . It’s what we’re going to face on the ground that you need to worry about.”

Franklin sighed. “Look, I know you’re pissed, but this is something that I have to do.”

“I don’t see why,” Manning answered grimly. “What if you get yourself killed? What then?”

“We’ve been through this before,” Franklin insisted. “Blue would take over, that’s what vice presidents are for.”

“No disrespect to the vice president,” Manning replied evenly, “but it’s
you
that people look up to. Besides, you don’t have anything to prove. You risk your life every time you get up in the morning.”

Franklin nodded. “Thanks, Jack, that means plenty coming from you . . . But the fact is that I
do
have something to prove, both to the people who still believe that I’m a collaborator and to
myself
. Besides, given the way that you and your team take care of me, what’s the worst that could happen? A hangnail? A mosquito bite? Some damp clothes?”

Manning chuckled in spite of himself, as the lifter banked to the right and started its vertical descent. A voice came over the intercom. It belonged to a Ra ‘Na pilot and sounded stiff. “We have arrived over the landing zone. There may be a need to take evasive action. Please check your safety harnesses.”

Comfortable in the knowledge that Ra ‘Na fighters had already flown through the LZ, drawn fire from computer-controlled surface-to-air missile batteries, and destroyed them, Manning checked his laptop computer. The screen showed a flight of fifteen lifters, each represented by a red delta, each five minutes apart. The plan called for Lifter One to land, off-load its troops, and take off.

Then, assuming the LZ was reasonably secure, the second lifter, the one that carried the president of the United States, would make its approach. Once the “Big Dog” hit the ground, the security team would throw a second ring of protection around him while Lifter Two dumped its containerized cargo. The arrangement was far from ideal, since Manning would have preferred to bring the president in on the last ship, but it was the best deal he’d been able to negotiate.

Franklin, eager to catch a glimpse of the landing zone, turned to peer out through the window. Mist consumed the aircraft, raindrops streaked across the window, and the lifter lurched as the increasingly choppy air battered it about. Then, just as the president began to wonder if the clouds went all the way to the ground, the jungle appeared. The Sauron fortress slid into view a few moments later. The first thing Franklin noticed was that the Guatemalan citadel was the virtual twin of the one near Bellingham. Or what the one on Hell Hill looked before the spaceship plowed into it. There were three towers, all in a cloverleaf pattern, and connected by short, sturdy wings. Blackened areas indicated where the Ra ‘Na continued to take potshots at the complex from orbit.

Now, as the aircraft lost more altitude, the president noticed two features that the northern site lacked, a water-filled moat and what appeared to be an artificial lake filled to overflowing with black, rain-slicked hulls.

In fact, having looked a bit closer, Franklin thought he could see where a few shuttles had attempted to land on
top
of those already down, creating pileups and triggering at least one fire. Of course there were lifters too, aircraft identical to the one he was on, parked helter-skelter all around the citadel’s perimeter. That meant the pilots would need to land farther out, well away from the complex, which suited Assault Force Commander Deac Smith just fine. The ex-Ranger was concerned about the possibility of booby traps, computer-controlled weapons emplacements, and who knew what else. That’s why his sappers would go in first, search for booby traps, and clear a path to the fortress itself.

The first lifter was down by that time. There had been no opposition, which meant that Smith, a platoon of his best troops, plus a heavy weapons platoon, had secured the LZ. Franklin knew he shouldn’t be scared, not surrounded by his bodyguard, but felt that way anyway. When the others went through a weapons check he did likewise, pulling the .9mm out of its shoulder holster, ejecting the magazine to ensure that it was full, and slamming it back into place.

Manning watched the president from the corner of his eye, hoped the politician wouldn’t shoot himself, but knew better than to say anything. The practice had paid off, and while something less than an expert, Franklin could hit the broad side of a barn. Which, assuming the security team was on the ball, he would never need to do.

Lifter Two descended through the rain, swayed as a gust of wind hit the twin hulls from the southeast, and squatted twenty feet from the welcoming orange smoke. Vilo Kell, who had been a Ranger himself and understood how Smith wanted things done, led a heavily armed team consisting of Jonathan Wimba, Garly Mol, Rafik Alaweed, and Gozen Asad out into the downpour, where they formed a secondary ring of protection within the existing perimeter. Manning waited for the go-ahead to come in over his headset, nodded to Franklin, and followed the president out into the rain. Orvo Orvin, the security team’s com specialist, and Jill Ji-Hoon followed behind.

Franklin felt a spatter of rain hit the top of his unprotected head, felt it stop as Asad produced an umbrella, and wondered if he should object. No one else was equipped with an umbrella so why should he have one? But, based on the ear-to-ear grin plastered across Asad’s face, Franklin suspected the agent had thought to bring the implement himself. The kind of thing people always tried to do for Jina. He nodded to the young man, said “Thanks, Goz,” and saw the grin get even wider.

The lifter’s engines wound up, the aircraft lifted off, and another came in to land.

“So,” Franklin said, addressing his comment to Manning, “what now?”

“Now we wait,” Manning said calmly, rain pouring down off his bush hat. “There’s no way to know what kind of stuff the bugs left for us to stumble over . . . Smith will let us know when it’s safe to move.”

Franklin, who had imagined himself being among the first to arrive at the citadel, managed to hide his disappointment. Maybe Manning had been right, maybe he should have agreed to come in last, rather than stand there in the rain. Still, this was where the action would soon take place, and there was no way that he could bear to miss it.

The minutes ticked by,
more
lifters landed, and
more
troops hit the ground. Most of them were human, but a contingent of Ra ‘Na marines arrived as well, all led by a now familiar face. Franklin bent at the waist in order to shake Fra Pol’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, Fra Pol, but I’m surprised Dro Rul allowed you to come.”

Water ran off the Ra ‘Na’s fur, and he grinned. “No offense, Mr. President, but look who’s talking! Besides, I forgot to ask him.”

Franklin laughed. It was clear that no matter who ended up in charge, Pol would continue to ignore them. A true revolutionary through and through.

The conversation was interrupted when one of Deac’s Demons materialized out of the downpour. He wore camos and clutched an assault rifle to his chest. The name “McKay” was hand-lettered on his helmet cover. He’d been a cop, and it showed. “An adult female approached the perimeter, sir. She knows how to get inside the citadel, sir, or that’s what she claims. Deac Smith is out with the sappers. Would you care to speak with her?”

Glad to have something to do, Franklin nodded. “Sure, bring her in.”

Manning spoke into his mike. “Snake One to Snake Four . . . Accompany Trooper McKay, check to make sure the woman is clean, and bring her in. Over.”

Mol had been facing west with her back to the president. She said, “Roger that, One. I’m on it. Four out,” and jogged in from where she’d been stationed. That created a hole, which the other agents covered by pulling back.

When it came, the boom was so muted by distance and the muffling effect of the rain that Franklin looked to Manning for confirmation. “Was that some sort of explosion?”

The security chief nodded and turned to Orvin. “Got anything?”

The com specialist was monitoring Smith’s command channel. He nodded. “The advance party encountered some obstacles. They’re making a path.”

There were more explosions and Manning wondered what “encountered” meant. Had the obstacles been detected ahead of time? Or “encountered” as someone died? He shivered and hoped for the former.

Franklin was chatting with Pol, learning the latest on the effort to sanitize the fleet, when Mol returned from her errand. The president turned to discover that although the woman who accompanied her was a good deal smaller, and dressed in what could only be described as rags, her personality was considerable indeed. It seemed to fill the space around her. Not only that, but the woman was pretty,
very
pretty, with perfectly even features, a nice figure, and big brown eyes. They stared at the politician with a strange sort of intensity—as if determined to make an impression.

“This is Dr. Maria Sanchez-Jones,” Mol said dryly, as if there was something about the woman she didn’t particularly like, “and she’s clean. Dr. Jones, this is Alexander Franklin, president of the United States.”

Franklin summoned the sort of smile once reserved for influential business people, religious leaders, and foreign dignitaries. “Good morning! Please, step under the umbrella, it’s wet out there!”

It had been a long time since anyone had treated Jones in the manner to which she had once been accustomed—and the courtesy was sufficient to produce a pageant-quality smile. “Thank you, Mr. President. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you and your troops. Does this mean that the Saurons have been defeated?”

The woman was close now,
extremely
close, and for the first time since Jina’s death Franklin felt a strong sense of attraction. He shook his head. “No, Dr. Jones, there’s been some progress, but we’re a long way from total victory. In fact, based on recent intelligence, it appears that the bugs came up with a way to increase the number of nymphs produced by some members of their population. Just another reason why it’s so important to destroy the complex.”

Jones liked the man. She moved fractionally closer. “My friends call me Maria. That’s why I came—to help you get inside.”

“I’m all ears,” Franklin responded. “Please proceed.”

Jones hooked a thumb back over her shoulder. “As you know by now, the aliens forced us to construct the citadel
over
a river, which flows down under the towers and exits from the far side. They made use of the flow to fill the moat, create the artificial lake, and provide the slaves with drinking water. They also used it as a way to rid themselves of waste. Pipes stick straight down and empty into the river. In fact that’s how I escaped . . . I dropped through a pipe, fell into a pool, and the water carried me downstream.”

Franklin listened with interest and respect. The woman had guts, that was for sure, and he felt a growing sense of respect. “So, what are you saying? That we could go downstream, work our way back up, and access one of those pipes?”

“No,” Jones replied honestly, “
you
couldn’t. The pipes are way too small . . . but
he
could.”

Both Franklin and Manning turned to see that the doctor was pointing at Pol. The Ra ‘Na, still standing in the rain, saw their eyes turn his way. “Who? Me?”

“
Yes
,” the anthropologist answered emphatically, “assuming that you could devise a way to reach the pipes from the water below, then work your way up through them, it should be possible to cut your way out.”

“All it would take would be a few of them,” Manning said thoughtfully, “and they could open the doors from the
inside
.”

The entire group turned in response to the distant pop, pop, pop of automatic weapons fire. Orvin pressed the earphones in against his ears. “The advance party ran up against some automatic weapons emplacements, sir. They took casualties but continue to probe the Sauron defenses.”

The mention of casualties caused Manning to look across the rainswept clearing to the point where an army-issue field hospital had been established. The self-erecting shelter bore a large red cross. Sool would be in there, along with Dixie and a team of Ra ‘Na med techs. He felt a sudden yearning but managed to push it away.

“Damn!” Franklin said enthusiastically. “That sounds promising. What do you think, Fra Pol? Would such a climb be possible?”

The cleric shuddered, hoped no one would notice, and imagined what such a venture would entail. The human hadn’t mentioned how far off the water the pipes were located—but there were ways to close that kind of gap. No, the real horror would begin the moment that some poor fool entered a pitch-black pipe, and painstakingly worked their way upwards. And eventually, once they made it to the top, what then? It would be necessary to cut their way out, sneak through darkened passageways, and access the front door. Not a pleasant prospect and one that scared the dra out of him. But there was only one answer that could be given, so he gave it. “Yes, sir, assuming that we find everything pretty much the way she described it.”

All eyes returned to Jones, and she shrugged. “There’s no way to know . . . I haven’t been back.”

“Okay,” Franklin said, “I think it’s worth a try . . . Orvin, get a message to Smith, explain what we’re up to, and tell him we’ll stay in touch.”