Gray Matter Splatter (A Deckard Novel Book 4) (33 page)

In seconds, he was being lifted skyward, quickly gaining
elevation as the box was hoisted back up the side of the mountain.
Looking down, he saw the mining camp, which looked like model
railroad scenery from above. A sentry wearing his overwhites and
carrying a spray-painted rifle patrolled below him, unaware of the
Samruk mercenary’s tactical gambit.

“That took some balls,” Nikita’s voice said inside the
spy’s earpiece.

Aghassi gritted his teeth and focused on not plummeting to his
death. The dark entrance to the mine loomed ahead, slowly getting
closer and closer. The cable car bounced, dropping a few inches and
then righting itself as the cable strained. The mercenary held on
with both hands, white knuckling it all the way up to the mine.
Finally, the box slid into the cutout in the side of the cliff,
passing with just inches to spare on either side.

Ensuring that he had solid ground beneath him first,
Aghassi released and fell five feet, landing on the balls of his feet
in a crouch. Taking a few steps out of the way so that he didn’t
get slammed by the next cable car, he unslung his Kalashnikov and
took a knee. For a full minute he watched and listened for sounds of
life. The first thing he noticed was the parallel set of rails for
mining carts at his feet.
He knew he had to be careful not to
touch the rails. If his hunch was correct, making physical contact
with the metal could kill him.

Slowly, he stepped forward, remaining as quiet as possible
by setting down the heel of his boot with each step and then rolling
it forward to his toes. A series of bare bulbs lit up the corridor
that tunneled into the mountain, but they also left enough shadows
for him to hide in. The sides of the tunnel were chipped black rock
that had been drilled through, now coated in a thin sheet of slick
ice. His breath hung in the air like a cloud. A few hundred meters
in, Aghassi thought he spotted a distant glow that wasn’t generated
by one of the light bulbs. It seemed to be closer to the ground.

Tension filled his body with each step forward. If caught in an
ambush, there was nowhere for him to run to. He would be gunned down
in seconds. As the glowing rectangle grew clearer in his view, it
became apparent that the glow was an open computer screen. He heard
the shuffling of gravel under a booted foot, then some clicks coming
from the computer terminal. It could have been one of the miners
hiding in the tunnels, but Aghassi wasn’t willing to take that bet.

Sticking to the side of the tunnel, he crept forward until
he saw a silhouette passing in front of the computer screen. Just one
person. Now he crouched down, careful not to cast a shadow from the
light thrown off by one of the bulbs behind him. Finally, he found
himself just a few meters away from the computer terminal and the
lone figure crouched over it. A Tavor rifle lay propped against the
wall of the mine next to him.

The Oculus commando had close-cropped hair and a medium
build. He also wore overwhites like the rest of his teammates. As
Aghassi neared, some sort of sixth sense must have told the Oculus
member to turn around to face an imminent threat. He was a half
second too late. Aghassi brought his buttstock down on his trapezius
muscle. Aghassi didn’t want to knock him unconscious as he needed
to question him. Instead, he went for a muscle that would only
incapacitate him. The butt stroke had the desired effect. The
commando fell to the ground in a heap, clutching his shoulder.

The American put a boot down on his chest, pinning him to the
ground as he trained his AK on the enemy.

“How many more of you guys are up here?”

The Oculus commando looked at him blankly. Maybe he was just
playing dumb. The mercenary took a hard look at his face, noting the
dark skin tone and thick eyebrows.

“You energized the minecart rails,” Aghassi said in Persian
Farsi.

Now the bushy eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise.

“Yes, I know your language.”

“Then you should know that I would never talk to the likes of
you,” the Iranian hissed.

“It’s over,” Aghassi said. “You played your cards well,
but this is the end of the line for Oculus. Now you need to start
thinking about an exit strategy for yourself. A bullet in a
mineshaft, a lifetime sentence in a supermax prison, or a
presidential pardon for defection and a nice house in Virginia. Your
choice.”

“I choose a fourth way.”

“There is no—”

With that, the Iranian swung his hand and cupped it over his
mouth, swallowing something.

Aghassi slammed his knee into the Iranian’s chest and pried his
hand away, but it was already too late. In seconds, the Iranian’s
eyes began to roll back into his skull and his body convulsed. As he
shook, white foam formed at the corners of his mouth. The American
shook his head, recognizing the smell of almonds. A cyanide pill.

“Death before dishonor,” Aghassi whispered as he
turned toward the computer terminal.

Sure enough, the computer was connected to a radio receiver,
which was in turn wired to the minecart rails. Another line went
deeper into the shaft, connecting to a generator with a transformer
to modulate the electricity to the correct frequency. More than
likely it was dialed in around 54.5 hertz to transmit on high
frequency, which was harder to locate using direction-finding
equipment.
By energizing the rails, they had created a massive
active antenna. Oculus had captured the mine to use as a massive
radio relay station between their field team and their controllers.
But where was the main body of the Oculus troops and the earthquake
weapon?

The former ISA spy turned his attention to the computer and began
working the keypad. Interestingly, the computer’s operating system
was set to English. Perhaps it was the common language that the
multinational force communicated in. He could see that transmissions
were going back and forth from the ASX mine as a relay station
between the field team and the control team. Aghassi knew he had
little hope of locating the controllers, as the signal would be
rerouted dozens of times to protect their masters. The field team
would not have that option, however.

Looking through the relay program, Aghassi was able to determine
where the rest of Oculus was, but the grids were not making any
sense.

“This can’t be.”

And yet, it was.

Turning back toward the entrance to the mine, Aghassi picked up a
faster pace. He had to radio Nikita, who would in turn relay to
Sirius Patrol, ultimately passing the information to Deckard.
Something was seriously wrong.

* * *

“Deck,” Kurt Jager called across the cargo hold of the
ekranoplan. “They need you up in the cockpit. Sirius Patrol has
something from Aghassi.”

Deckard jogged toward the front of the craft and climbed a ladder
into the cockpit.

“Just pick up that receiver,” the pilot said from his seat,
already knowing what he was there for.

“This is Six,” he said picking up the hand mic.

“This is Sirius. Your men are on target. Stand by for a grid
for the enemy location.”

Deckard wrote down the numbers as they came in and referenced
them on a map the pilot’s navigator had.

“You’re sure?” he radioed back. “That’s in the middle
of nowhere.”

There was a long pause over the net.

“That is the grid that was relayed to us.”

“But it is in the middle of fucking nowhere. What the hell
would Oculus be doing in the middle of Greenland?”

Another long pause.

These fuckers are holding out on me, Deckard thought.

“Unknown at this time.”

“Listen, your government instructed you to cooperate with us.
Aghassi must have told you what the stakes are here.”

“We are cooperating but….”

“But?”

“We need to clear it with higher.”

“This is a state secret?”

“I cannot comment further,” the Sirius Patrol leader said. “I
apologize.”

“Never mind. I’ll clear it up on my end. Out.”

Deckard set the radio down and looked to the pilot. His gray
mustache bounced in anticipation as he looked back at the mercenary,
a paper cup filled with instant coffee in his hand.

“Do you have a satellite phone? I need to call back to the
States.”

The pilot reached into a pouch on the back of his seat and tossed
Deckard an Iridium phone.

“Want to pass that grid to my navigator so we can get moving?”

“Sure, but we can’t leave until I get confirmation.”

Deckard slid down the ladder and walked by the dozens of
mercenaries who were sleeping and cleaning their weapons. A few were
playing cards on top of a rucksack. Powering up the phone, Deckard
waited for the screen to activate as he stood on the ramp, the
ekranoplan gently rolling with the surf. He dialed the number. SCOPE
picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Deckard said as he looked across the
water and scanned the barren terrain in front of him. “We need to
talk.”

* * *

Jiahao strode into the radio room and stood behind one of the
former Russian GRU operators who served as their commo tech. Sensing
the presence of the Chinese commando, the Russian turned toward him.

“Is the relay site operational?” Jiahao asked.

“Up and running,” he replied, handing over a note.

Jiahao took it from his hand but continued to stare straight
through his commo man.

“From control,” the Russian said uneasily.

Looking at the note, he read it with a smile.

“Perfect,” he said as he flicked open a butane lighter and
held it to the piece of paper.

Dropping the note as it finished burning, Jiahao left the radio
room and walked down the icy corridors. The main drag was large
enough to drive a tank through, or park a few dozen fighter jets if
one was so inclined. Branching out from the corridor were other small
tunnels that contained the various functions needed to keep the base
operational: water, geothermal power, an armory, motor pool, chow
hall, and even a club for recreation. As it stood, the compound was a
ghost town, sitting empty and waiting for an Army Jiahao knew would
never arrive.

Rounding a corner and ducking through another doorway, he
entered the geothermal energy station. The previous custodians, three
Danes who were now tied up in the corner of the room, had to drill
deep to make geothermal energy possible in Greenland. It was to their
benefit, as a large power source was exactly what he needed to make
the device fully operational.

Chinese, Iranian, and Russian commandos surrounded the metal box
that they had expended so much energy transporting across the Arctic
from Russia. Of course, their original plan had been to load it on a
submarine and operationalize it elsewhere, but plans change.

Deckard.

The Assassin's Mace soldier cursed his name. The American
interloper was fighting windmills, unable to accept the fact that his
country was going into a steep decline. Other powers would now rise,
with China supplanting America as a global superpower. In the end,
all Deckard had accomplished was to delay the inevitable.

“How much longer?” Jiahao demanded.

One of the Persians looked apprehensive. “A few more hours. We
have to calibrate the energy intake—”

“You have an hour. We cannot delay any longer.”

“Make it happen. I will not miss another opportunity. Control
has authorized us to fire at will.”

“We will get the weapon online.”

“See that you do. And what about the fine-tuning of the
standing waves?” he asked, turning to another Chinese member.

“We are almost there. At this point it is a matter of ensuring
that the energy does not get lost as it travels through the Earth’s
core, or even worse, we overshoot and the energetics dissipate into
the atmosphere.”

“I want updates every ten minutes.”

“Of course,” the technician said, getting back to work.

Jiahao turned back to the corridor, searching for more of
his men. They had their own work to do, preparing defenses and
setting explosive charges at the entrances. At this stage of the
game, he would leave nothing to chance.

* * *

The 60-some-odd mercenaries simultaneously rocked forward
as the Ekranoplan set down, forcing them to desperately cling to any
hard point before they somersaulted down the fuselage and did a
faceplant on the ladder leading to the cockpit. Mann’s Ekranoplan
had the added benefit of being able to land on both water and snow,
pontoons mechanically transforming into skis as needed.

It had been just a short skip to Thule Air Base from their
location near the ASX mine. After retrieving the gear they needed for
the final assault, it would then be a few hours to travel 400
kilometers to their target. Deckard still couldn’t believe that the
Danish government had been able to conceal such a secret from the
world. Apparently, Russian military exercises has spooked the Danes
far more than anyone had expected, leading them to take some fairly
intense precautions.

As they came to a halt, the loadie dropped ramp.

The SCOPE think tank in Tampa had quickly coordinated with the
Danish government, getting them to cave in and reveal what they had
been hiding once they were made fully aware of the situation. Charlie
was in the wire, and there wasn’t much that Denmark’s small
military would be able to do about it. Letters of marque legitimized
Deckard’s pirate crew under the U.S. government, and so they were
in like Flynn.

However, Deckard had been on enough suicide missions to
know one when he saw one. First, he insisted on stopping by Thule Air
Base, a U.S. military installation in a remote corner of Greenland.
The facility was America’s northernmost military base. It provided
ballistic missile early warning systems and command-and-control
systems for orbital surveillance platforms.