Gorgon: An Alex Hunter Novel (18 page)

‘But we don’t know the words or the tune,’ Sam said, folding his massive arms.

Alex paced toward the screen. ‘No, but we do have a place to start. Creta is Crete, right?’ He turned to Matt. ‘Okay, Brains, where are the Caverns of Zeusa?’

Matt snorted. ‘That’s an easy one.’ He pulled up a map on the wall-screen and started to drill down toward Greece. ‘The Caves of Zeus are part of a large system excavated in Crete in 1886 on the Lasithi Plateau. Today we refer to them as the Psychro Caves. There are signs of human visitation there dating back tens of thousands of years.’

‘And they’re deep,’ Rebecca added. ‘Mostly explored, but there are collapsed passages that are now closed off to the public. A lot of relics were taken from the caves in the late 1800s – there might be some clues there.’

‘Collapsed passageways?’ Alex repeated. ‘Maybe there’s evidence of this thing still down there somewhere … buried. Who knows how old Magera was . . . is? If it had already been alive for a long time when Constantine came across it, it must operate on a different chronological plane to us.’

Matt nodded. ‘Remember the words scratched into the wall? They were Minoan. And the Minoans were established as a great race at least 5000 years ago.’ He looked around at the others, excited. ‘You know, it all actually fits. The first people in Crete were Neolithic, then came the Minoans who worshiped cave deities. Maybe the priest in the codex was singing in Minoan – I mean, it was a dead language even by the time of Constantine.’

‘I can’t believe I’m saying this,’ Sam said slowly, ‘but maybe it truly is an immortal.’

Matt got to his feet and started pacing. ‘Okay, stay with me here . . . but how about a wild theory? When Hemlagh was asked where Magera came from, he pointed skyward and said, “
Caelestis
”.’ Sam groaned, but Matt waved him to silence. ‘Did he mean heaven, Olympus? Maybe. Certainly fits with Greek mythology. But … but what if he meant something more than that? What if he meant somewhere higher, much higher, like the stars?’

Sam covered his face with his hands and shook his head. He spoke from between his fingers. ‘Yeah, maybe it’s a Klingon.’

Rebecca rolled her eyes at Matt. ‘Don’t you dare go there, Professor.’

Alex held up his hand. ‘All theories are worthwhile right now. Go on, Matt.’

Matt smiled, and shrugged. ‘There’s no such thing as immortality … on Earth.’

Hammerson folded his arms. ‘I’m not convinced. Sure, the priest pointing skyward is interesting, but not even mildly conclusive. Even I know that to the ancient Greeks Olympus
was
up in the stars.’

‘But Hemlagh wasn’t a Greek,’ Matt said. ‘And there’s more that points toward something other than a Greek legend. The gods of the Minoans were mostly women – they had goddesses for fertility, the harvest, animals, the city, the household, and one we should be most interested in, the underworld.’ Matt looked around the group. ‘A serpent goddess.’

Rebecca tilted her head back and scoffed. ‘Interesting, Professor, but not science. I can tell you right now that most mythological-based religions – the Greeks, Romans, Cretans, Egyptians, Vikings – involved an
axis mundi
, a heavenly cosmic center. No one stepped out of a flying saucer.’

Alex switched off the wall-screen. ‘Well, I think we’ve got all we’re going to get from the codex. I’m not convinced this thing is from anywhere other than right here, on Earth.’ He looked at Matt. ‘I do, however, think it could be some sort of creature not seen for thousands of years – perhaps it’s just come out of hibernation, or was reanimated somehow. Sounds strange, but we’ve dealt with plenty of strange stuff before.’

Hammerson nodded, smiling grimly.

‘Everything points to this Magera thing being the genesis for the Gorgon myth,’ Alex continued. ‘Not sure how that helps us, if at all, but at least it’s given us somewhere to start. Now it’s time to fill in the blanks and find some way to take it out.’

Matt stepped forward, about to speak, then stopped.

‘Well, go on … spit it out, son,’ Hammerson said.

Matt cleared his throat. ‘It’s just . . . before we try and kill it, we need to consider that this thing, or being, or whatever it is, has to have intelligence. I’m convinced we could communicate with it first; maybe even instead of killing it.’

Hammerson glared. ‘Really? So far, anyone who’s got close enough to say “how you doing” gets turned to goddamn stone. Last I checked, communication was a two-way street.  So far, Magera’s only form of communication is death.’

Sam smiled without humor. ‘Maybe after sleeping for nearly 2000 years, it just woke up in a bad mood.’

Matt rolled his eyes. ‘Just promise me one thing. If we can work out the words, or song, or whatever the priests used to subdue it, you’ll give us a chance to try it?’

Alex’s voice was unyielding. ‘No.’

Matt turned to Hammerson. ‘Colonel, not every problem has a military solution. Just … keep it in mind.’

Hammerson was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. ‘Gentlemen, never hurts to have more options than we need. But just so we’re all clear: the primary option is termination.’

Alex and Sam nodded, and Matt half-bowed. ‘That’ll do. Thank you.’

‘One more thing, Professor Kearns.’ Hammerson’s eyes were unblinking. ‘In my experience, every problem
does
have a military solution.’ He went to the phone on his desk, and began punching in numbers. ‘I’ll get your rides fueled up. Professor Kearns and Ms. Watchorn, you’ll be going to Crete to look for clues among the recovered artifacts, and also to scope out the Psychro Caves. Thompson, you’re going with them. Hunter, you’ll take Reid, Franks, and our other guest into Turkey, to stand in front of Magera. Put your team together, and be on the pad and ready to go in an hour.’ He paused and looked at Alex. ‘Don’t forget that you’ll probably have Borshov at your back. Dismissed.’

At the mention of the Russian’s name, Matt saw Alex’s face change, as if suddenly there was someone else looking out through his eyes. Matt recognized the look: up in Canada once, he’d seen two huge wolves face off over a deer carcass. Before they tore each other to shreds, there was a look that passed between them – unblinking, focused, and without fear. Then the two massive bodies had hurled themselves together in a brutal fight to the death.

These guys are a different species all right
, he thought. He was glad he was going to Crete.

Alex and Sam led Corporal Barclay Jackson, Casey Franks, and HAWCs Ben Rogers and Steve ‘DK’ Dankirk, to the secure elevator that would take them down to the R&D facility several stories below the USSTRATCOM base. Even though the elevator could operationally accommodate ten, it would be filled by the bulk of these six.

‘Form up,’ Alex ordered, and they came to attention. Alex walked along the line, looking each soldier in the face. He stopped in front of Casey Franks – he knew and trusted her, and had been in the field with her before. She’d leap into a furnace if he asked her to. At five nine, she was half a head smaller than most HAWCs but he knew that under her suit she was all gristle, corded muscle, and tattoos. And she could fight like the devil itself.

Alex nodded to her. ‘Franks.’

‘Sir.’ Her eyes slid briefly to meet his. There might have been a small smile too, but it was quickly replaced by a hint of suspicion. It was hard to tell with the scar on her cheek pulling her face up on one side.

He moved on to Rogers and Dankirk – two blocky mid-westerners, both Sam’s choice. Alex had read their charts – both had good histories in the Rangers and SEALS. They had the right experience and excelled out in the field.

‘Rogers, Dankirk. You know where we’re going?’ Alex asked.

‘Hell and back, sir,’ they responded in unison.

It was the standard HAWC response. Basically it didn’t matter which hellhole or meat grinder they were dropped into; they’d enter, win, and then vanish like smoke.
Leave with a smile and a shoeshine
, as Hammerson always said.

Alex nodded, and moved on to Barclay Jackson. The SAS man stood a couple inches taller than him. He had scars on his cheek that ran down underneath his chin – evidence of a brutal life.

‘Jackson, I don’t know you yet, or what you can do,’ Alex said. ‘The moment we step on that plane, we cease to exist on paper – we’re effectively dead. But if you fuck up in the field, then you might get us all dead, real dead. I’m not going to let that happen. Understand?’

The man’s eyes never wavered. ‘I’ll keep up.’

‘Damn right you will.’

Once again, the technician, Walter Gray, met them as they exited the elevator.

He rubbed his hands together when he saw Sam. ‘Lieutenant Reid, good to see you again.’ He smiled briefly at the others, and then looked at Alex, who nodded, then continued down the sterile white tunnel. The others fell in behind him.

Gray walked fast to keep up. ‘Er, Lieutenant Reid … Sam, how’s the combat harness?’

 Sam didn’t slow, but looked down. ‘Good. Fair bit of weight, but manageable.’

Gray was walking in a crouch, peering at Sam’s lower half. He reached out to touch Sam’s leg, but Sam batted his hand away, then grabbed the man’s shoulder. ‘Easy there, Doc, I already had my physical.’

Barclay Jackson grinned. ‘I think he was hoping to do a quick prostate check. You’re not a young man any more, Reid.’

Sam glared at Jackson. ‘You and me are gonna have at it before long.’

‘Don’t mind him,’ Franks said, jerking a thumb at Jackson. ‘Him and me don’t have to worry about getting ours checked – I hear it’s really only a problem if you have balls.’

Jackson threw his head back and laughed. ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, Franks.’

She snorted. ‘You’re not my type – too girly.’

Walter Gray cleared his throat. ‘Very good everyone.’ He turned to Sam again. ‘I have the new power packs if you’re interested. Might lighten your load a bit.’

‘What you got?’

‘You’re using the standard Mark V, right?’ Gray asked.

Sam nodded.

‘Thought so – gives 5000 watts of power for ninety-six hours, or twenty-four in a maximum activity burst. But they’re heavy cells. With the Mark VI, we’re using degraded plutonium sheeting – it’s smaller, lighter, and will last a month, even at high activity.’

Sam nodded, impressed. ‘Any radiation or heat signature?’

Gray smiled. ‘No more than normal background trace.’

Sam grunted. ‘Sign me up.’

The HAWCs went from room to room, stocking up on the gear they needed – knives, explosives, and handguns. They selected some wireless assault projectiles, or WASPS: mini over-the-horizon missiles with enough smarts built into the tiny launcher that you could pick a target several miles away, and then let it go and do its job. The blast radius and impact was equivalent to a fragmentation grenade – a small delivery package with a big punch.

In the close-quarters room, Gray looked over his glasses at Alex. ‘Cartridges for your HKs – I’m assuming 9mm parabellums?’

Alex shrugged. ‘Sure. They get the job done.’

‘Sure do … for standard kit. But I want you to see something else.’

Gray pushed a stud and a door slid back into the wall to reveal a long narrow corridor with a target dummy at one end. On one wall hung a row of guns and other weapons, many of which Alex had never seen before. The HAWCs and Jackson crowded around, and Gray looked delighted with the sudden interest and attention. He took a pistol from the wall, selected some ammunition from a red box, and loaded a single bullet, also red-coated, into the chamber. He handed the pistol to Alex, then nodded to the dummy.

In one smooth motion Alex spun and fired, hitting the dummy in the center of its chest. Almost immediately a red spot appeared between the pectorals and bloomed outwards. Even from a hundred feet away Alex could feel the heat, and as he watched, the dummy melted from the inside out. Jets of halon gas whooshed down on the mess, suppressing but not fully dousing the flames.

‘
Bam!
’ Franks clapped. ‘I like it.’

Alex sniffed the barrel, then handed the gun back to Gray. ‘Thermite?’

Gray nodded. ‘Aluminum oxide thermite packed into a standard shell. Safe and stable until the projectile’s impact friction delivers enough heat to start the exothermic reaction. Burns at 4000 degrees, wet or dry.’ He grinned. ‘Makes for some great fun in the dark, and sure to get your adversary’s attention.’

Alex couldn’t help smiling at the scientist’s boyish enthusiasm for the deadly ammunition. ‘Pack a box … for each of us.’

‘Yeah!’ Casey Franks high-fived Ben Rogers.

Next stop was the combat body armor room.

‘It’s like Christmas, isn’t it?’ Gray chortled, rubbing his hands together.

Alex grinned. ‘Okay, Santa. The biological body armor – I want it for the entire team, and we need it processed now.’

Gray nodded. ‘We can do that. I can get the design programs started immediately, as soon as we’ve got the morphology measurements.’ He motioned the team into the room. ‘Lady and gentlemen.’

Alex hung back, and stopped Gray following them in. ‘The laser prototype.’

Gray nodded. ‘Yes, yes, the KBELT – klystron beam emitted-light technology. We’ve perfected the miniaturization, and added a pistol to the range. You have experience with them?’

Alex nodded, remembering the rifle he’d used on the Dark Rising mission in Iran. No stock, held like a sawn-off pump action, with a square casing over the trigger. There were two settings for the laser – high and low energy pulse. High energy cut a pencil-sized hole through anything; low energy gave about the same result as a hundred pounds of TNT delivered in a single, focused, explosive punch.

‘Did you overcome the short battery life?’ he asked.

Gray nodded, and took a step closer to Alex, his voice dropping. ‘It’s still highly classified. Only one man below the rank of general knows about it – Colonel Jack Hammerson. And now you.’ He looked up into Alex’s face, studying his features. His eyebrows came together. ‘You sure we’ve never met?’

‘Yes.’ Alex put his hand on Gray’s shoulder. ‘Now show me the KBELT pistol.’

*

Hammerson stood with his two teams on the runway. Alex, Sam, and their unit would leave first; with Reece Thompson, Matt Kearns, and Rebecca Watchorn boarding the second aircraft to Crete. The HAWCs’ suits, with the inbuilt synthetic biological armor plating, made them look like dark segmented insects.

Their rides, Lockheed SR-71 Blackbirds, were supposed to have been retired around 1996; however, the long-range reconnaissance aircraft were far too valuable to mothball, and were still in use for special payloads – Spec-Op teams that needed to be somewhere, fast. Each looked like a missile with its short wings and two huge muscular thrusters in close to the night-dark body painted with radar-reflecting paint. With a J58-P4 engine that could produce a static thrust of 32,000 pounds, the Blackbirds could cruise at Mach 3.2 – fast and near invisible. And if they
were
detected, at high altitude they could outrun a surface-to-air missile. Both planes had no insignia, and their pilots were also off the books. Once they crossed out of US airspace, they stopped existing.

Hammerson knew too well the burden this anonymity placed on the HAWCs, and on him. Too many young men and women lay in shallow unmarked graves around the world – Alex Hunter’s father being one of them. Hammerson gazed at Alex. The young man’s gray-blue eyes were clear; no hint of anything other than eagerness, intelligence, and explosive energy. He hoped the thing lurking somewhere within his mind remained chained behind whatever barrier Alex had created for it. If not … Hammerson didn’t want to think about the Other One taking control of his protégé in the field.

He looked around the group – no tension; just eagerness to get underway.
Time for the talk
, he thought.

‘The impossible jobs are ours,’ he said, and looked hard at his two senior soldiers. ‘Win or lose, no one knows but us – this is our lot. We are the HAWCs, the first line, the strongest line, and the last line. When we go in, others stand aside, or they die. Clear?’

‘HUA,’ the HAWCs said in unison, their eyes blazing.

Hammerson placed his hands on his hips. ‘Commander Kemel Baykal of the Turkish SF Kommandos went down to this thing. One hundred Special Forces soldiers, all lost. They threw everything at their target, but Magera went through them like they weren’t there. General Chilton has authorized a small HAWC unit intervention.’ He stepped in closer to the two big men. ‘So, goddamn intervene. I want to know what this thing really is. We know line of sight is high risk, and even viewing it remotely can be hazardous. We’re working on some tech to get around those limitations, but for now, use caution. As a minimum we want to know if it has a physical form. If it does, we can destroy it. And watch your backs – Borshov is on the ground there somewhere.’

He stood back and saluted. ‘HAWCs, it’s our turn now – make it count. Good luck and God speed.’

Alex saluted, then turned to his team. ‘Load ’em up, people.’

The HAWCs and the SAS man piled into the first Blackbird. Alex was last, and he turned and nodded to Hammerson before following his team onto the plane.

Hammerson’s face was grim.
Magera, Borshov, and the Arcadian all in the same place at the same time
, he thought.
Hell on earth.

*