The Oracle Code (12 page)

20

Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation

Lubyanka Square

Moscow, Russian Federation

February 14, 2013

Mastering the fear that vibrated through him as he watched the news camera sweeping across the carnage at the dig, Cherkshan reached for his phone. Helplessly, he watched the cameraman panicking and swinging the camcorder wildly. The dead man vanished from sight, but he was replaced by more than a dozen bodies lying haphazardly on the snow-covered ground.

The camcorder operator’s irrationality vented itself in a litany in English. “Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!”

Cherkshan tuned the man out and punched the number for his attaché’s line.

“Yes, General.”

“Get me someone in the United States Army Base covering Herat.” The intel the FSB had access to would have that knowledge. Cherkshan waited, forcing himself to breathe, but he thought of Anna and how—only moments ago—he’d been glad she was there and not in Moscow while President Nevsky gave his speech.

Three intolerable minutes passed. The casualties on the television monitor continued to mount. Obviously shocked but trying to remain professional, an anchorwoman at the news station in the United States tried to bring order to the chaos erupting across the channel.

The anchor was young and had a reddish tint to her fair hair. She reminded Cherkshan of Anna.

The phone clicked in Cherkshan’s ear. “This is General Mitchell Clark’s attaché. To whom am I speaking?”

Cherkshan answered in English. “This is General Cherkshan with the Defense Ministry of the Russian Federation.” He knew the American army would know who he was at once. He had a widely decorated career.

The man’s laconic tone vanished. “General Cherkshan. How may I help you, sir?”

“I need to speak to your commanding officer.” Cherkshan hurried on, watching the events unfold on the television monitor. If something happened to Anna, he didn’t know how he was going to tell Katrina. “I want to verify that you are responding to the Taliban attack on the archeological dig at Herat.”

“Sir, I’m not at liberty—”

“My daughter is there. I want to know that you’re aware of the situation and taking steps.”

The attaché hesitated only a moment. “Got two girls of my own, General. This is off the record, but rest assured that we’re already en route. We’ve got a team three minutes out. Your daughter’s not out there alone.”

“Thank you.” Cherkshan broke the connection, then took out his personal cell phone. He punched up his address book and found Anna’s name. He pressed the button and listened to the phone at the other end ring and ring.

***

39 Miles Southwest of Herat

Herat Province

Afghanistan

February 14, 2013

At the mouth of the cave, listening to the blistering
cracks
of the rifles all around him and spotting snow spraying up nearby as bullets whistled through it, Lourds didn’t hesitate. But he did realize full well what he was about to do.

“Thomas!” Boris charged after him, but Lourds was in shape from playing regular soccer and left his friend behind. “Don’t go out there!”

Lourds focused on Anna. She stood frozen in disbelief, staring down at a young ANP officer lying dead at her feet. Moving at full speed, Lourds was grimly aware of a line of bullets chopping across the snow-covered ground toward Anna. He lunged, throwing himself forward and spreading his arms. Trying to yank her back into the cave would only have gotten them both killed.

When he slammed into Anna, her breath whooshed out of her. Petite and little more than half his weight, she left her feet like a wide receiver hit by a linebacker. Pain shot through Lourds as they flew through the air. Her elbow struck him in the face and made his eyes water. Then they landed hard, with him on top.

She lay under him, gasping for air, and he tried to keep from smashing her flat. Desperate, Lourds looked around for cover.

A young ANP officer had taken cover at a nearby generator. The man fired a volley at their opponents, then sprinted over to aid Lourds. Before he could reach Lourds, a bullet plowed into him and took his legs out from under him. The officer spun sideways as blood poured from a wound high on his hip.

Get up! Get up!
Lourds pushed himself up but stayed low. Anna still lay stunned, flailing weakly. He caught her hand and dragged her across the ground. The packed snow reduced friction and allowed him to easily pull her. Adrenaline-spiked fear lent him the strength to run with her in tow.

Just as he reached the generator, it felt like a baseball bat slammed into his back. He lost his footing and went sideways, knowing at once that he’d been shot. He and Anna had skidded behind the generator, temporarily out of the line of fire. He lay on his side and waited for the pain to kick in. Panicked, he ran a hand across his side and felt for the wound.

Anna sat up and huddled against the generator. She had to shout to be heard over the noise. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been shot.” Lourds kept trying to reach behind him. He wanted to find the wound, and he didn’t want to at the same time. He kept expecting to feel the warmth of blood, but there was nothing there.

“Where?”

“My back.”

“Can you move?”

“Yes.”

“Then get over here.” Anna reached for him, caught his foot, and dragged him closer to the generator.

He wanted to fight her off and tell her that moving him could cause paralysis, depending on the severity of the wound.
That’s why you can’t feel anything. You’re paralyzed.
Except that he could still feel and move his feet. He came to a stop pressed up against Anna.

Bullets created craters where Lourds had been lying.

“Thank you.”

Anna nodded and seemed on the verge of screaming. She leaned over him and inspected his back. “You weren’t shot. Your backpack was. The bullet passed through and missed you. All you felt was some of the impact.”

“
No!
“ Lourds shoved himself into a sitting position and shrugged the backpack off. All he could think about were the scrolls. Before he could reach them, Anna slapped his shoulder to get his attention.

She pointed at the ANP officer lying on the ground a short distance away. The man was wounded, evidently dazed, and lay on his back, staring up at the sky. For a moment, Lourds thought he was dead. Then he saw the young man blink.

“We have to help him.” Anna rose to her feet and ran over to the wounded man.

Thinking the young woman was out of her mind, Lourds was nevertheless unable to remain on the sidelines either. Leaving his backpack behind, he dashed over to the victim. He and Anna grabbed the man’s arms and dragged him back to cover behind the generator. Bullets chased them till they got there, then whined off the generator or cored into the metal housing.

“Thomas!” Boris remained within the cave, safe for the moment.

Only a few feet away from the Russian professor, a dark-haired man in a green
Russia Today
coat took refuge against the mountain in a sheltering indentation. He looked around desperately, and for a brief moment, he focused on Lourds.

There was something predatory in the man’s gaze. Lourds felt it slash into him, and the innate survival instinct hardwired from Neolithic man on came boiling to the forefront.

Then the man looked up the mountain, and the feeling went away, replaced immediately by the threat of gunmen who had taken up positions on a ridge a hundred yards up the mountain from the cave.

Lourds watched the men and knew the brief shelter the generator had afforded was over. He debated trying to get back into the caves, but that wasn’t a good answer because then they’d be trapped in the tunnels once the dig site was overrun. And he fully expected it to be overrun.

The man beside the cave ran out to the rifle abandoned by the wounded ANP officer. Scooping up the rifle, he dropped to his knees and fired bursts at the Taliban on the ridgeline. The bullets drove the Taliban back for a moment. One tumbled down the mountainside, proof of the man’s accuracy.

Lourds couldn’t help thinking that an excellent soldier had been wasted as a
Russia Today
journalist.

Evidently out of rounds, the man got up and ran for the generator. He dropped to his knees again and quickly started searching through the wounded ANP officer’s uniform and coat.

Anna helped him, and together they found three magazines for the rifle. Her hand was shaking as she handed the ammunition to the man. “I see you found your way to a meeting with Professor Lourds after all.” She spoke in Russian.

The man stared at the woman for a moment, then he smiled and slapped home the fresh magazine. He answered in Russian as well. “If we don’t die today, I’d like to buy you a drink, Miss Cherkshan.”

“If we don’t die today, I will buy the next.”

Lourds listened to the exchange, but his mind was on the wounded man in front of him. Lourds had had first aid training. He knew how to take care of various injuries, and this wasn’t the first time he’d seen a bullet wound.

He shrugged out of his coat and pulled off his soccer T-shirt. Working quickly, he folded the shirt tightly and ignored the cold air swirling around him. He could be dead before his body had time to get truly cold.

The ANP officer had gotten shot in the side, just above the hip. Lourds pulled at the man’s uniform blouse and hoped that he didn’t unleash a spill of entrails.

The man groaned.

“Are you still with us?” Lourds spoke in Dari, then Pashto, and again in English.

“Yes. I am hurt.” The man spoke in Dari.

“You are, but we’re going to get you out of here,” Lourds said but had no idea how to accomplish the feat. He shoved the folded shirt against the man’s waist in an attempt to stem the blood.

Anna leaned close. “You will need something to secure the compress. We’ll use his belt.” She reached for his pants and expertly snaked the man’s cotton D-ring belt from the loops. “Help me get this under him.”

Lourds straddled the man, aware that the
Russia Today
man was blazing away with the rifle, and lifted the wounded man so Anna could slide the belt under him. She wrapped it around his middle, then slid the tongue through the rings and cinched it tightly.

Blood had already soaked the shirt.

Lourds glanced at her. “You’re very handy.”

“My father is a military man. He made sure I knew how to properly take care of myself.”

“He must be a very proud man.”

Anna smiled slightly with a hint of sadness. “Not so much. I tend to disagree with him, and he tends to disapprove of me.”

“Well, you get a gold star in my book.”

She nodded, then looked around. “We cannot stay here.”

“No.” Lourds studied their situation as well. Before he could formulate a plan, another ANP officer skidded around the corner.

The man was older, practiced, and—under the circumstances—calmer than he had any right to be. He held his rifle and took in the
Russia Today
man. “You know how to use that?”

The
Russia Today
man nodded.

“Good. Then you can cover our retreat.” The officer looked at Lourds. “You and I are going to get this wounded man out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

“As far back as we can go, as fast as we can get there. The United States Army Airborne is on the way. They’ll be here in a couple minutes. Maybe less. They want us out of the area because they’re going to rain hell on this cursed Taliban.” The officer slung his rifle and grabbed one of the wounded man’s arms. He pulled the arm over his shoulder and helped the injured officer to his feet. “Help me.”

Lourds grabbed the other arm, pausing only long enough to grab the straps of his backpack. He looked at the officer. “My friend is back in the cave. We need to get him out of there. He needs to know he’s supposed to evacuate.”

The
Russia Today
man glanced at Lourds. “I will get your friend.”

Before Lourds could reply, the man was gone, sprinting back toward the cave. Lourds started carrying the wounded man, hastening to keep up with the pace set by the other officer.

Anna followed.

21

39 Miles Southwest of Herat

Herat Province

Afghanistan

February 14, 2013

Colonel Sergay Linko focused on the cave as he zigzagged up the hill, never letting himself think for a moment that he’d be hit by one of the bullets flying all around him. Another body toppled from the ridge over the cave and splatted on the ground. Acting on reflex, Linko shot the man in the face twice as he passed to confirm the kill.

“Get in here! Quickly!” Professor Boris Glukov waved to him from the cave mouth. “You’re going to get shot!”

Linko knew there was no time to waste. In minutes, the ANP, the ANA, the ISAF, and probably a large contingent of the United States Army were all going to descend on the area. Whatever Glukov had found inside the tomb would be impossible to acquire at that point.

As Linko reached the cave, a warhead from an RPG-7 rocket launcher struck a vehicle twenty meters away. Staggered by the concussive force, the colonel almost went down. Then the professor had his arm and was pulling him into the cave.

“Come on. I’ve got you.”

Linko leaned into the professor, accepting the man’s help. From the corner of his eye, he saw the vehicle struck by the rocket settle back to the earth, already a whirling ball of flames. Twisting spirals of smoke spun up into the sky.

“Are you hit?” Boris Glukov checked him over, obviously concerned.

Deciding to try it the easy way first, Linko turned to the professor and spoke in Russian. “What did you find in the tomb, Professor?”

Startled, Glukov drew back. His hands doubled into fists, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who are you?”

“No one you know, comrade, but I have my orders, and time is obviously running out. Tell me what I need to know.”

Glukov waited a beat too long before making his reply. “I found a dead man in a tomb. Nothing more.”

Linko stared at him. “I do not believe you. You called your friend Lourds to this site.”

“Only to do a translation on some documents that were also found.”

Some of that was truthful. “What documents?”

Glukov shook his head. “I do not know. I could not read them. That is why I called Thomas and had him come.”

From all his years of interrogation, both in the field and in private basements, with fear alone as a prod, and sometimes with terrible torture tools, Linko knew the professor was telling a half-truth at best.

Abandoning the
easy
way of getting answers due to the time constraints, Linko decided to go with the
easier
way. He smashed the butt of his rifle into the professor’s face, knocking the man back against the wall, then throwing a hand against Glukov’s chest to keep him upright.

Bleeding profusely from his split lips and broken nose, Glukov swayed drunkenly. He struggled to focus on Linko.

“Can you hear me, Professor?” Linko released his hold on the man’s chest, slapped the professor’s face hard enough to turn his head, and caught him again before he fell.

“Yes...I hear you...”

“Tell me what you found.”

“A dead man... Only a dead man.”

Linko grabbed the man’s hair and bounced his head on the stone wall behind him. Glukov howled in pain. Linko punched him in the face, hitting his nose again.

“Talk to me, Professor. I do not have much time, and I have no patience at all.”

Glukov’s fingers worked feebly at Linko’s hand on his chest, but his disorientation stripped his strength, and he couldn’t break Linko’s hold. Setting his feet, Linko threw a shoulder into his prisoner and bounced him into the wall again.

“What else did you find?”

Sucking in air, frightened and hurting, Glukov broke. “Scrolls... There were scrolls.”

“What kind of scrolls?”

“About Alexander the Great...”

“What was on those scrolls?”

“I don’t know, I swear. Thomas only got here a short time ago. Even he hasn’t deciphered them yet.”

That excited Linko. He still had a chance to get something substantial for Nevsky. “Are the scrolls still in the tomb?”

“No.”

“Then where are they?”

Glukov thought just for a minute about not answering, or of lying. The thought danced through his watering, fearful eyes. Then it was gone. “Thomas has them. God forgive me.”

When he heard the professor’s final words, Linko knew that the man fully understood his predicament. And he was going out from this life ashamed of himself and his weakness.

Linko smiled at the man and pushed the rifle barrel up under Glukov’s chin. Coldly, he pulled the trigger and watched the top of Boris Glukov’s head shatter as the bullet cored through.

Then the world blew up.

***

Captain Eddie Trainor, United States Army Airborne pilot of the 101st Airborne Division—designated the Screaming Eagles—banked his UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter toward the target mountain. Through polarized lenses, he stared down at the white-capped mountain. It was an unusual sight. Three winters out of four in this region of Afghanistan, the snow melted nearly as soon as it hit the ground and ran off.

First Lieutenant Blake Shannon pointed at the line of Taliban warriors on top of the mountain. “Got a flanking position set up.”

“I see them.” Trainor nodded and opened the radio frequency that had been set up with the Afghanistan National Police unit on the ground in the firezone. “Major Sarkhosh, this is Captain Trainor of the 101
^st
Airborne.”

“I read you, Captain.” The man at the other end of the frequency sounded nervous but solid. “Glad to see you.”

“You’ll be gladder in a minute, Major, I guarantee that.” Trainor knew the trapped archeologists were lucky. He and his squad had been running maneuvers and were loaded for bear. In addition to the two 7.62mm machine guns in the cargo area, they also carried a pair of .50-cal GAU-19 Gatling guns and 70mm Hydra 70 rocket pods mounted on the Black Hawk’s stubby wings. “Have you got your people out of the immediate area where the Taliban are?”

“Yes. We have pulled back from the mountain.”

“Excellent news. We’re about to introduce these bloodthirsty terrorists to the twenty-first-century United States Army Airborne.” Trainor nudged the stick forward and armed the rocket pods. “Pick your targets, guys, and make ‘em count.” His thumb slid over the FIRE button as he got a lock on the ridge.

The Black Hawk stuttered a little as the rockets left the pod. A moment later, the warheads struck the ridgeline, and a bouquet of orange and black explosions blossomed along the mountain. Rock and flaming debris tumbled down the face.

***

Lourds panted for breath as he helped support the wounded ANP officer in the rush to get away from the mountain. He kept trying to turn and look over his shoulder to see where Boris was, but he couldn’t manage that and helping out with the injured man at the same time. Finally, he gave up and concentrated on getting the man to the large cargo truck ahead of them.

Several people had gathered at the truck. Evidently, the ANP officers—those who had survived the initial assault—had decided to pull the archeologists and media people back there. Wounded lay on the ground, and other people huddled in whatever shelter they could find.

Lourds still couldn’t believe how the violence had erupted and swept over the dig as it had. He knew about the Taliban. He’d even seen them in action up close and personal before. But this was utter devastation. It reminded him of far too many close calls he’d had of late.

Insanely, he thought of the ring he’d bought Layla and hoped the bullet that had holed his backpack hadn’t damaged the ring. Of the ring and the scrolls, he didn’t know which he was more prepared to sacrifice. Rings could be replaced, the scrolls couldn’t. But there could never again be the first ring he had bought for Layla.

Another ANP officer came to aid him with the wounded man. Lourds gladly handed him off.

Turning back, Lourds slung the backpack over his shoulder, looking back up the hill. Anna was there, her cheeks burned red from the cold and from her agitated state.

“Where’s Boris?”

Anna shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since the cave.”

“The
Russia Today
man hasn’t brought him out?”

“No.”

Growling curses, Lourds was certain that Boris had probably insisted on going back into the tomb to save what he could of the artifacts in case the site was robbed before he could get back to it. He knew they’d be leaving, at least for a little while. The ANP, ANA, and ISAF would insist on it. Boris would want to get his hands on everything he could.

Thinking only of his friend, Lourds ran back toward the cave a hundred yards away. The Taliban were scrambling to position themselves for the coming aerial attack. No one noticed his approach as he hid behind available rocks and ridges.

The ANP officer yelled after Lourds. “Come back. The United States Army is approaching.”

He was right. Lourds saw the wicked shapes of the military helicopters against the blue sky, with US markings painted proudly on their sides. They were wide-bodied and had stubby wings with cylinders mounted under them.

As Lourds watched, the helicopters started an approach that took them toward the waiting Taliban. He stretched his stride, going so fast now that he almost couldn’t keep his feet under him. The backpack banged against his shoulders and hips, throwing his balance off.

He couldn’t spot Boris anywhere, not even among the bodies on the cold ground, which was a relief, as he’d been fearing that was what had happened to his friend. He didn’t see the
Russia Today
man either.

Fifty yards from the cave, Lourds saw both men. They were standing in the passageway, looking like they were simply talking.

Lourds started to yell Boris’s name, then he watched in horrified revulsion as the
Russia Today
man slid his borrowed rifle under the Russian professor’s jaw. The flat
crack
of the rifle shot blasted out of the cave, unique among the other small arms fire.

“NOOOOO!” Lourds felt certain that his voice was drowned out in the cacophony of shots and rockets bursting all over the immediate area. Helpless, he watched as Boris dropped from the
Russia Today
man’s grip.

A series of explosions detonated across the ridge where the Taliban warriors had been hidden.

Lourds stopped running, breathing hard, unable to comprehend the sight of Boris lying so still on the ground and the
Russia Today
man standing over him.

The man turned and spotted him. He lifted his rifle to his shoulder, and Lourds knew he didn’t have time to run.