Area 51: The Mission-3 (2 page)

"Hard to know what to believe and who to trust," Turcotte said.

"I trust you."

Turcotte rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin. Duncan came up next to him, standing close by his side. He regarded her for a moment, taking in her dark eyes. "Where's your son?" He felt bad for not having asked before, but it had been one heck of a trip just getting some time off and coming here. He'd noticed the picture of Lisa and her son on the mantelpiece inside.

"He's been staying with his father since school started. I knew this assignment was going to consume all my time, and it wouldn't have been fair to leave him here."

"It would be kind of lonely," Turcotte noted.

"It is, but we enjoy it when we're here together," Duncan said. "When I taught at the University we would drive to town together."

"You miss him." Turcotte said it as fact, not a question.

Duncan nodded. "They're away now on a camping trip. I'd hoped to be able to see him, but . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry," Turcotte said.

"Next time in town," Duncan promised, "I'll introduce the two of you. You'll like Jim."

"I'm sure I will."

"He got his license last year," Duncan said. "I was so scared, letting him drive these roads. I almost sold the house and moved into town. But then the presidential

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appointment came and, well, I didn't have time and Jim likes it here. He likes the quiet. I like it too.

"When we're done with all of this"—she pointed at the sky, and Turcotte knew she meant the mothership— "I want to come back here."

"I'm glad you didn't move," Turcotte said. "It's beautiful."

Duncan was the President's science adviser and primary point of contact for everything to do with the Airlia. This was the first chance the two of them had had in weeks to simply stop and be still for a little while. Turcotte knew it was a temporary respite, but one both of them terribly needed.

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, taking in the spectacular view.

The moon was shining down on them. To the west it reflected off the white-covered peaks.

"There's Longs Peak." Duncan pointed to their left. "A fourteener," she added, referring to one of the many peaks in Colorado over 14,000 feet.

Turcotte nodded. "I climbed it when I was in Tenth Special Forces."

Duncan laughed. "I should have known." She gestured toward the south. "On a clear day you can see the top of Pikes Peak, over a hundred miles away."

"I always wanted to retire out here. I don't think you can beat the mountains," Turcotte said.

That brought another long silence. Turcotte looked up once more at the sky.

Finally he spoke. "Anything from Kelly?"

Duncan sighed, realizing the real world was never far away. "Nothing. The only change has been that the shield surrounding Easter Island is now opaque.

Overflights, satellite imagery, thermal, infrared, radio waves—nothing can get through. There's just a big black

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half-circle sitting on the ocean now. We don't have a clue what's going on inside of the shield."

"And Mars? The Airlia base?" Turcotte asked.

"Nothing. We hope the Surveyor nuke took out the guardian there."

Turcotte shook his head. "You've looked at the imagery from Hubble and the other data like I did. The bomb went off a couple of miles up. There's no surface damage."

"I was trying to be optimistic. Mars is a long way off." Duncan tried to put more confidence in her voice than she felt. The talon fleet had powered up after being left in storage for more than five thousand years and crossed that distance in less than two days.

They were lost in their own thoughts until Duncan broke the silence.

"Some people think we did the wrong thing."

Turcotte laughed. "That's understating it a bit. I have had a moment or two to watch the news."

"All right," Duncan said, "a lot of people think we did the wrong thing."

"We had to act," Turcotte said. "There wasn't time to sit around and have a debate."

"I'm not saying I agree with those people," Duncan said. "I think we did the right thing. What I'm concerned about is what happens next."

Turcotte took a sip of beer, then put his mug down. "Hell, Lisa, I'm not exactly sure what happened, never mind what is going to happen." He closed his eyes in thought. "First, we had the Easter Island guardian computer tell Nabinger what a great guy this alien Aspasia was. How he saved mankind from some other terrible alien force the Airlia were at war with by keeping the rebels among his own people from engaging the interstellar engine of the mothership and bringing those

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aliens here. So we stopped Majestic from flying the mothership. Then we get inside Qian-Ling and that guardian computer says no, Aspasia was the bad guy and this Artad fellow and his police, the Kortad, were the good guys. But that there was indeed an interstellar war between the Airlia and some other alien race and the mothership's interstellar engine shouldn't be engaged anyway. So at least both agreed on that, and stopping Majestic and keeping the mothership's interstellar drive off was a good thing.

"So then we get Aspasia coming in from Mars— where he'd been snoozing for a hell of a long time— with what looks like a fleet of warships ready to finish what he started ten thousand years ago. And his foo fighters destroy a navy sub and look none too friendly. So we stopped him."

"And the foo fighters," Duncan added.

"And the foo fighters," Turcotte acknowledged. "We stopped Aspasia based on what Nabinger told us and the actions of the foo fighters." He shrugged. "I don't know what the truth is, and I'm not sure Nabinger did either."

"He was trying to tell me something important when he got killed," Duncan said.

Turcotte nodded. "I think he figured out what was in the lower level of Qian-Ling we couldn't get into. Peter was a brave man."

"Quite a few brave people have died in this conflict," Duncan said.

"That's the nature of war," Turcotte said. It was a subject he was very familiar with, having been in the military ever since graduating from the University of Maine. He'd served in the elite of the U.S. Army, from infantry to Special Forces, to a counterterrorist unit in Germany until the assignment that had brought the two

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of them together when he'd been picked to join the top-secret security force guarding Area 51.

Now he was assigned to Lisa Duncan, to help her deal with the results of opening up Area 51 and the shocking fact that aliens—the Airlia—had arrived on Earth over ten thousand years ago and established an outpost. And that the Airlia had never left. They had had a civil war, during which the island humans knew in legend as Atlantis had been destroyed. It appeared now, at least from the evidence they had gathered so far, that an uneasy truce had existed between the two Airlia factions for millennia, maintained by computers—called guardians by the humans who found them.

Duncan interrupted his thoughts. "Did you know that ten percent of Americans don't believe we ever got to the moon? They think the whole Apollo program was done in a hangar out in the desert."

Turcotte raised an eyebrow.

Duncan continued. "CNN just did a survey and they found that over forty percent of Americans don't believe the Airlia are real. They think the whole thing was staged. That there was no fleet. No aliens. No base on Mars. None of it."

"How do they explain the bouncers secreted at Area 51? And the mothership hidden there?"

"Some say none of them exist. You have to remember that only a very small percentage of the population has actually seen a bouncer in person, even with the publicity tours we sent some on. With the special effects Hollywood can churn out now, many people think it's all fake. Or they think the bouncers are military prototypes and the government is trying to scam the public. That this whole alien thing is a ploy to misdirect attention."

Turcotte shook his head. "That helps explain some of the reaction, but it doesn't make me feel any better."

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"This won't make you feel much better either," Duncan said. "The CIA has picked up quite a bit of Chinese Army activity in the Qian-Ling region. It's likely they might try to blast their way into the tomb."

"They won't have to blast," Turcotte noted. "The hole we got out of is still open."

"From the imagery it doesn't appear they've gone in yet, but it's only a matter of time."

"Once they go in they'll have contact with the Qian-Ling guardian," Turcotte said.

"The guardian might not communicate with them," Duncan said. The strange gold pyramids found at several Airlia sites were, as far as they could define it in human terms, computers. But the alien computers could do so much more—including directly interfacing with the minds of those who touched its surface—that no one was quite sure what they were. The alien computer uncovered under a dig at Temiltepec in South America had taken over the minds of several members of the covert Majestic-12 group—the event that had begun Turcotte's and Duncan's involvement in this.

"Even if they can't make contact with the guardian," Duncan continued, "they might be able to get access to the lower level and uncover whatever is down that central corridor."

"Nabinger knew what was down there," Turcotte said.

"There's no way we can get back into China to find out. God knows what will happen with the Chinese. They might simply blow the place up, as the Chinese government has more than enough to deal with right now with their own people rebelling."

"I don't think the Chinese, even if they go in, will be able to make it to the lower level," Turcotte said. "Nab-

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inger was probably the only one who could figure out how to get in there."

"I hope so," Duncan said.

"And STAAR?" Turcotte asked. "Anything further?"

Duncan put a hand on his forearm. "Well, I was going to get to that."

"What do you want me to do now?"

"Lead a team to Antarctica. The engineers who have been drilling at the Scorpion Base site say they should break through very soon. I want you to be there when they go in."

"When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"And where will you be going?"

"The Task Force off Easter Island. The navy wants to try an underwater recon by a probe. Try to get under the shield."

"You think that will work?" Turcotte asked.

"No, but we can't give up on Kelly."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then I go to Russia."

"Russia?" Turcotte thought about that. "Section Four?"

Duncan nodded. "There's more going on than we know. What Colonel Kostanov told you—it has me wondering. I sent a message to Section Four and finally managed to talk to someone named Yakov. He told me he would get back to me, but knowing Russian efficiency, I thought it best if I went myself."

"That's probably true," Turcotte agreed.

"They're going to come at us again," Duncan said.

"They?"

"The Airlia. The guardian computer at Easter Island. STAAR. Take your pick. We stopped them at Area 51.

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We stopped the fleet. But they won't stop. And God knows what will happen next."

"I always used to tell my team in Special Forces that what you least expect is what will happen."

"That's why I'm afraid," Duncan said.

Turcotte stepped behind Lisa and wrapped both his arms around her, feeling the leather crinkle. "I know this isn't over. Is that why I'm here?"

"No," Duncan said. "You're here because I want you here."

There was just the sound of the breeze through the pine trees for several minutes.

"I'm cold." Duncan nodded toward the door and the beckoning fireplace. "Ready to go in?"

"In a second," Turcotte said. He watched her walk inside, then turned to the dark countryside. He sensed something, a feeling he'd had before while on combat missions—of being watched. His eyes scanned the nearby area, but he knew he wouldn't be able to see anyone, if there was someone out there. Finally he turned and went inside to join Duncan in front of the fireplace.

Fifteen hundred meters away, on a craggy hillside facing Duncan's home, a man sat cross-legged behind a night-vision telescope set on a tripod. He watched the two figures silhouetted by the fireplace. His flat expression didn't change, even as he watched the two begin kissing, his only interest professional. The watcher noted as the man in the house got up and pulled shut the curtain.

He had a small earpiece in his left ear, attached to a receiver he'd planted days earlier. It had picked up the conversation the two had had on the porch.

The man was thinking about what had been said, condensing it

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for the report he would have to make shortly. A receiver he'd hidden inside the house now picked up the sound of the two making love, but that interested the man not in the least.

An MP-5 silenced submachine gun, round in the chamber, lay across his knees.

Behind him, a backpack rested against a tree. A bulky plastic case was strapped on the side. The man laid the sub aside and reached for the pack. A large silver ring glittered in the moonlight on his left ring finger as he did that. He opened the plastic case and pulled out the two parts of a sniper rifle. His practiced hands quickly bolted the parts together. He pulled a different scope out of the pack and slid it into place on top of the rifle.

One never knew how those he worked for would react to his report, and he wanted to be prepared just in case. He looked through the scope and turned it on. The image came to life in an array of colors, from hot red through cold blue. He sighted in, the thermal sight letting him see through the curtain.

There was one large red spot in front of the flickering deeper red of the fireplace—the man and woman sleeping arm in arm. Twisting the focus knob, he zeroed in on the man's head. He knew he'd have to take down the Green Beret first.

The rifle ready, he leaned it against the tripod. Then he pulled out a secure cellular phone. He punched in a number. He made his report in a few concise sentences. After a short pause, he received his orders. It was the same 99