Close Up the Sky (46 page)

He pulled his
walkie-talkie from its holder on his belt and keyed the mike. "T-2 to T-1,
over." He waited several seconds for a reply, but none came. "T-2 to
T-1, over," he repeated the call. He was supposed to relieve Barry
Pendergast, who was pulling the eight-hour morning shift. It was standard
practice to meet your relief at the boat dock, but for some reason Pendergast
had not shown up. He called on the radio twice more, but got nothing. It was
apparent that Pendergast was either asleep or his radio was not working. Now he
would have to climb the hill before he could relieve him. That would mean an
hour and a half delay in Pendergast getting back to the
Talon
. Captain Lloyd did not like delays or snafus, so there would
probably be hell to pay for this. Hull hoped the captain would not become so
concerned that he would launch one of the choppers to come looking for them. That
would
really
mean trouble. He slung
the M-14 over his shoulder and started up the hill.

It was early
afternoon and burning hot. Sweat poured down his chest and soaked his shirt. The
climb was the only thing he hated about sentry duty. He took out his canteen
and sipped a few swallows. He was tempted to take another pull on the whiskey
bottle but decided to wait until he had relieved Pendergast. It was going to be
a long afternoon and he might need it for later. Hull climbed along the trail
that he and the other sailors had made over the months by constant passage up
and down the hill. There were certain reference points along the way, and he
could tell by looking at them that he was about halfway up. He continued
climbing,
sweat pouring off him in rivulets. Twenty minutes
later he spotted Pendergast's body lying in some rocks off to one side of the
path.

"Jesus, Mary,
and Joseph!" he blurted out. He dropped into a defensive crouch and
unslung the M-14. He scanned the immediate area, and seeing no threat, stooped
down to examine Pendergast. Blood oozed from several gashes on his face, and
one leg was twisted beneath him at a sickening angle. From the looks of his
clothes it appeared that he must have crawled this far down the hill before
passing out. He felt for a pulse and got a weak one. He was alive, but just
barely. Pendergast emitted a low moan and coughed feebly.

Hull snatched the
radio off his belt. "Don't worry, pal. You'll be okay. I'm gonna get you
out of here right now!" He keyed the mike and shouted into it, "T-2
to
Talon
, T-2 to
Talon
. Mayday! Mayday!" He was breathing hard and sweating
profusely.

The sound of
gunfire from the top of the hill caused him to freeze.

“What the hell,” he muttered. The crest was about five hundred feet away.
He raised the M-14 and peered through the scope. His eyes bulged from their
sockets when he saw a man and woman wearing black clothes leap headfirst over
the summit and land on their stomachs.

Matt felt sharp
rocks gouge his chest and abdomen as he hit the ground. The impact tore Taylor's
hand from his grasp and she slid away from him. He caught a glimpse of movement
from downhill out the corner of his eye, but Williams was on them before he
could make it out. He rolled over and tried to get up but slipped and fell onto
his back again. He saw Taylor propped up on one hip near him, both palms on the
ground.

Williams glowered
down at them. "I told you it was no use, Matt! But I guess you had to
try." He brought the pistol up in a two-handed grip and aimed at Taylor's
forehead. "I'm sorry, Taylor, but I have to do this." His finger
tightened on the trigger.

Matt arched his
back and tried to kick Williams in the shin, but slid backward in the rocky
soil. "No!" he screamed. He saw Taylor lift her chin and glare
defiantly at Williams.

Then the world
went into slow motion. He saw Williams's head jerk spasmodically as a dark red
spot suddenly appeared on his forehead. At the same instant the back of his
skull exploded outward, spewing bone, brains, and blood across the ground. For
what seemed an interminable time his body just stood there staring down at
Taylor, still pointing the pistol at her. Then came a peal of thunder from a
large caliber rifle and he fell backwards into his own gore.

Time returned to
normal speed. Matt jumped to his feet and rushed over to Taylor. He helped her
to her feet. "You okay?"

She ran her hands
over her face, chest, and stomach. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. "I
think so. Are you?"

He nodded. They
looked down at Williams's corpse. The handsome face was expressionless; he had
felt no pain. The dark eyes stared unblinking at the white orb of the sun.

They heard
movement behind them and turned to see a man armed with a rifle climbing up the
hill. He wore the dungarees and blue shirt of an American sailor. A couple of
minutes later he reached them.

"You folks
all right?" he asked, out of breath.

"Who are you,
and where did you come from?" Matt managed to say.

"Seaman First
Class Roger Hull, sir." He jerked his head over his right shoulder. "That's
my ship down there, the
U.S.S.
Talon
."

"Seaman Hull,
you don't know how glad we are to see you!" Taylor said.

"Yeah." He
looked down at Williams. "Looks like I was just in time. This guy was
gonna
kill you, lady! Who are you people, anyway?"

Taylor grabbed
Matt's arm in alarm. "Mike and Edward!"

They climbed back
over the hilltop and ran to where Summerhour was lying on his stomach. Matt
rolled him over. Williams's last shot had hit him in the jaw. It looked like
the bullet had gone completely through and exited on the opposite side. The
wound looked painful but not fatal. Summerhour opened his eyes and sat up. When
he tried to speak, it sounded like a gurgle. He spat out a glob of blood and
tooth fragments. "Wha th hell!" he mumbled.

"Take it
easy, Mike," Matt said. "He got you in the mouth, but it's not too
serious. Looks like it went all the way through without breaking much more than
a couple of teeth. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Summerhour put
both hands to his jaws and held them. He spat more blood and said in a garbled
voice, "Muh side hurts. Bullets mussa broke a rib." Then he noticed
Hull squatting beside him. A surprised look came over his face.

"This is
Seaman First Class Hull," Matt said. "From one of the ships."

Summerhour nodded.
Hull grinned.

They checked Edward
and found him in the same state in which they had left him. "I guess we
better try to patch Mike up while we wait," Matt said to Taylor. "I
expect help will be here pretty fast now."

True to his
prediction, within minutes a U.S. Marine Corps helicopter bristling with guns
popped over the hilltop. Hull spoke briefly into his radio as the pilot made a
sharp circle around them, then settled the aircraft to the ground a hundred
feet away. Several armed Marines jumped out and began securing the area. The officer
in charge ran to where they were waiting and squatted beside them. He looked at
each of them in turn, accessed the situation, and said, “I’d say you people
need some help.”

Next to Seaman Hull, he was the most beautiful sight they had seen in
weeks.

Matt and Taylor
waited in the corridor outside the
Sidney
James's
infirmary. The ship's surgeon had been working on Edward for over
two hours. It was one of those rare times when Matt had the urge to smoke. He
took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Taylor put her arms around him and
hugged him. Neither of them spoke, they just stood in a warm comforting
embrace, swaying from side to side. They parted when the door of the infirmary
opened and Dr. Carl Ruiz, a slender man in his early fifties, stepped through.

"He's going
to be fine,"
Ruiz
reported. "There was a
pretty large skull splinter pressing against his brain. I also removed some
lead fragments. It’s definitely a bullet wound. The pain had to be terrific. It's
a miracle he was able to make it here at all. If you hadn't come along when you
did, he probably wouldn't have lasted two more days."

"Thank you,
doctor. He's always been a pretty tough guy,” Matt said. “What about the sailor
he attacked? Is he going to make it?"

"Pendergast? He
has a broken leg and some cuts from the fall he took when your brother jumped
out at him, but nothing really serious. He was dehydrated from lying in the sun
for such a long period, but he's young and resilient."

"Mike
Summerhour?"

"The biggest
problem with him is keeping his mouth closed. Right now I've got it packed with
gauze. The entry and exit wounds should heal nicely in a few weeks, and some
skilled plastic surgery will take care of the rest.”

"Thanks,
doc," Matt said. "We were really worried about both of them."

"Not to
worry, son," Ruiz replied. "You can see your brother for a few
minutes if you like."

"Thank you,
sir. I'd like that very much."

He and Taylor went
into the infirmary. A young medic pointed to a curtain drawn around a bunk bed.
Matt pulled the curtain back and saw his brother. An IV dripped slowly into a
vein in the back of his right hand, and bandages covered the top of his head. His
eyes were closed, but he opened them to a slit when Taylor sat down on the edge
of the bunk. She stroked his free arm and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hi, big
guy," she said softly.

He smiled. "Taylor,"
he said in a weak voice. "Matt?"

"
I
'm here,
Rocks
."

"Thought I
was dreaming. Saw you on the hill?" The exertion of speaking caused a
painful grimace to twist his features.

"Yes. But
maybe you should rest now. We can talk later."

He managed to
shake his head a little and said, "No. Need to tell
you…,”
but he was unable to complete the sentence. His eyes closed and he drifted off.

"We'll be
back, Rocks," Matt soothed. "Right now you just sleep." He
looked at Taylor. "Let's go find Durant. It's time to speak of many
things, the walrus said." They went out of the infirmary.

Both of them were
aware that Dr. Durant was aboard and had been waiting to see them, but Matt had
refused to leave the infirmary until he knew Edward's condition. Taylor had
backed him up and stayed at his side. A sailor who was waiting outside escorted
them through a maze of corridors to the captain's conference room. It was a
relatively large room for a ship, furnished with a long walnut table and ten
matching chairs. Afternoon sunlight poured through two portholes with their
green curtains parted.

The first person
they saw as they entered was Durant. He stood and waited for them to come in. Matt
looked sharply at him. The old man's hands were shaking and the circles beneath
his eyes had grown darker since they had last seen him. Both he and Taylor were
shocked to see Ryan Pierce pouring coffee from a service tray located on a
stand against the far wall. Three other men sat at the table. Two of them wore
the uniforms of navy captains. The other one was thin to the point of
gauntness. His hair was gray and he wore a blue golf shirt. His face was
expressionless, but the sharp eyes had been examining them in detail from the
instant they stepped into the room.

"I thought
you were going to keep us waiting all day!" Pierce blurted out. He put the
coffee pot down and went around the table. He engulfed Taylor in a bear hug. "Hi,
sweetie. You look beautiful as always." He stuck out his hand to Matt, who
took it. "I'm really glad to see you, Matt. I was afraid we might be too
late."

"Ryan, what
are you doing here?" Taylor asked
,
her expression
was a study in puzzlement. "Or maybe I should ask,
how
." She glanced at Dr. Durant as she asked it.

"Please. Sit
down, both of you," Durant said. "There's a lot we need to talk
about. But let me introduce you to these gentlemen. Captains Rudley and Lloyd,
and Special Agent Emmett Ritchie, National Security Agency. The men rose at the
introductions. Matt and Taylor pulled out chairs and sat down facing Durant
across the table.

When they were all
seated, Durant spoke. "First let me apologize for deceiving the two of
you. I hope you can forgive me, but it was absolutely necessary. It was a matter
of national security of the highest level. I'm sure you'll understand when
you've heard the whole story." He paused and began fishing through his
tweed jacket for the inevitable pipe. "A lot has happened at Apache Point
since you've been away. Things I wouldn't have believed possible."

"We already
know about Babylon Station," Matt said in a flat voice. "I was able
to break the password on the encrypted file Edward attached to the report I was
reading before we transported. It doesn't go into great detail, but the general
facts are there."

Ritchie opened a
leather portfolio lying on the table in front of him and took out a writing pad
and pen. "The password?"

"Rocks,"
Matt answered.

Ritchie wrote the
answer on the pad. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Before we go
on, there's a question we'd like answered if you will," Matt said. "The
Marine captain who came with us. As it turned out he was someone other than who
he pretended to be. Who was he?"

"His name was
Akmedi Sureahl.” Ritchie answered. “A major in the Iranian army intelligence
section. But we wouldn't have known that if it hadn't been for Sergeant
Pierce."

They looked at
Ryan, and he gave them a little smile.

"His
department found the body of the real Captain Williams in a dumpster at the
Albuquerque airport about the time you transported,” Ritchie continued. “Sureahl
had apparently been following him based on instructions he had received from
Dr. John Kasdan, who we recently learned was a self-appointed espionage agent
connected to foreign interests in the Middle East. Sureahl murdered Williams at
the airport and took his luggage. He then had Williams’s military ID card
reproduced with his own photograph on it. Not a very difficult accomplishment
in a city as large Albuquerque. To complete the ID transition, Kasdan later
obtained Williams’s personnel file from Colonel Pope, Apache Point’s security
chief."