The Rock (21 page)

Hawkins squatted down and touched the pitted surface of the Rock with his palms. He then peeled the camouflage cover from his watch and looked at the reflective surface. "We agreed that if we didn't get a positive response, we would go back through, eight hours after our return."

"And do what?"

"Get the bomb ourselves."

Fran sat down next to him. "But how are you going to do that?"

"Tuskin knows who the Russian general was who sold the bombs. And he knows where he's being held. That's something we didn't have before. He says the Russian authorities are keeping it quiet because it's a great embarrassment and would only add to their poor public image."

"How are you going to get to the general?"

Hawkins shrugged. "We didn't have enough time to figure that one out. It isn't the greatest plan, but it's a start. It beats sitting around here waiting for everything to close up."

"I don't understand you," Fran said.

Hawkins glanced at her in the dark. "What's not to understand?"

"How you can have done what you've done for the past several years, yet still seem to care so much about people and the world. How you can react so strongly about your wife, yet be capable of killing without a second thought."

"It's my job," Hawkins replied.

"Bullshit," Fran said without raising her voice. "I don't buy that."

Hawkins twisted on his knee and faced her. "All right. You want to know what makes me tick? I'll tell you the truth--I don't know. At first I did what I do because I thought I was one of those people that had their finger in the dike and kept it from breaking. But then I started realizing that maybe my side of the dike was just as screwy and fucked up as the other side. And that maybe there was some guy on the other side with his finger in the same hole I had mine in.

"But what was I supposed to do? It's all well and good to intellectualize it, but when you're waist deep in the swamp fighting the alligators, that isn't the time to be worried about draining the swamp."

"Maybe that's the best time to think about draining it," Fran replied. "Then you wouldn't have to be battling them."

"Fine," Hawkins snapped. "I'll go out and change the whole world by myself." His eyes glinted, the glow of the perimeter lights reflecting off them. "You want to know something?" He didn't wait for an answer. "On my last mission before coming here I killed a woman. Just put a round right between her eyes and walked away. Because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. That's the way it goes. That's the world. I didn't make the rules. I just play by them as best I can."

"Is that what you feel about the accident with your wife? Wrong place, wrong time, and wrong person?" Fran quietly asked.

Hawkins went tense and was silent for a long time. Finally he spoke, his voice so low, Fran barely caught it. "No. That's not what I think."

"Then don't apply it to the rest of the world. You can make a difference. You have a good plan with Tuskin. Believe in it and do all you can."

“I was going to do it anyway," Hawkins said.

Fran reached out and touched his shoulder. “But you'll do it better if you believe."

Hawkins suddenly stood. "There's some information I need to find out. Then I'm going to get some sleep." He glanced at his watch again. "It's Lamb's show for the next seven hours and twenty-five minutes. I suggest you get some sleep too." He strode off into the darkness, heading for the operations tent, leaving Fran alone in the dark. She looked up at the stars one more time, then went off to find Don and see how he was doing.

PROBING 

Ayers Rock. Australia

23 DECEMBER 1995, 0030 LOCAL

22 DECEMBER 1995, 1500 ZULU

Fran returned to the mine shaft and descended the wire bucket for the second time, arriving in the chamber just as Tomkins was about to send through the remote camera. Pencak, Levy, and Batson were gathered there also, next to Lamb in front of the TV screen. A squad of marines in full battle gear stood fidgeting off to the side, weapons held in nervous hands.

The remote consisted of a video camera mounted on a small, tracked cart. A powerful built-in transmitter would beam back into space the images the camera picked up on a broad band that itself was capable of being picked up by one of the Keyhole satellites blanketing the Earth, thus averting what had happened to the camera linked by the fiber-optic cable.

"Ready to go, sir." Tomkins held the remote control in his hand.

"Go ahead."

Tomkins flicked a switch and pushed slightly forward on the toggle in the center of the remote control. The cart hummed and then slowly rolled toward the Wall. On the TV screen the Wall grew closer and closer. The cart touched the Wall and there was the flash of light and the cart was gone. The TV screen had gone totally white as the same time as the Wall and now showed solid black.

"What's happening?" Lamb asked. "I've got it stopped," Tomkins said. "That's if I’ve still got contact with it," he added after a brief pause. "How come we're getting nothing on the screen?" Lamb demanded.

"You're not going to get anything," Levy spoke quietly. "It's gone farther than any radio link man has devised can reach."

"Reverse it. Bring it back," Lamb ordered.

Tomkins played with the remote for a long minute. Finally he stopped and simply looked at Lamb. "I'm getting nothing on the satellite link. Zero telemetry."

Lamb turned to the man in charge of the marine squad. "Are you ready, Lieutenant King?"

The young officer's face was bathed in sweat despite the coolness of the chamber, but his eyes glittered with the blind obedience that had allowed marines to charge across open beaches under fire for generations. He stepped up to the group. "Yes, sir."

"You're not going to send them through, are you?" Fran protested as she realized what was happening, placing herself between him and Lamb. "For what reason?"

"To verify Hawkins's story."

"But the Coalition might take that as an aggressive act!" Fran argued.

"The Russians sent through armed men," Lamb responded.

"They might not go where Hawkins and I went," Levy said. "Remember that Richman went in at Tunguska and came out here. What happens if these men come out at Tunguska?"

Lieutenant King fingered his M-16. "Then it's rock and roll time."

"What if they step out somewhere new?" Levy asked. "What if it's someplace where humans aren't able to survive?"

A couple of the lower-ranking marines exchanged worried glances.

"I'm in charge here," Lamb said. "I take responsibility."

"Your taking responsibility is great," Fran said bitterly. "It will certainly help the families of these young men feel better when they don't come back to know that you took responsibility."

The lieutenant's eyes had not lost any of their earlier intensity. "I go where I'm ordered, ma'am."

"Hey, LT." A large black sergeant, his crew-cut hair gray with twenty-three years of experience in the Corps, stepped forward. "Maybe we ought to talk to Colonel Tolliver first?" He shot a look over his shoulder at the Wall. "I think we're out of our league here."

Lieutenant King shook his head. "No, Sergeant Johnson. The colonel specifically said we were under the command of Mr. Lamb." The NCO reluctantly stepped back into ranks.

"When you cross, send one man back immediately so we know you're all right, and to tell us where you're at," Lamb said.

"Aye, aye, sir."

Fran slowly moved out of the way and the marines formed a wedge, point facing the portal. King was in the lead, less than a foot from the Wall. He glanced over his shoulder and looked at Lamb expectantly.

"Go," Lamb ordered.

Lieutenant King stepped forward and the Wall went white. As each man hit, there was the same brief flash and then they were gone, one after another in the intrepid spirit that had taken Mount Surabachi. It took less than five seconds for all ten men to disappear.

Those left behind watched the Wall, waiting for the promised report to come back. As the seconds ticked away, the mood shifted from one of expectation to one of uncertain dread.

The Other Side 

King was momentarily disoriented and then quickly gained his bearing, only to be further confused when he saw his surroundings. He was bumped forward as the next man came through and the procession continued until all ten men were milling in a large room. The far wall was about thirty feet away and the side walls were twenty feet apart. The walls were pure white and appeared to be made of some metal alloy. The ceiling was twelve feet above the floor and both were made of the same material. Behind them was the black Wall. There were no windows--only what appeared to be a door with no handle. The light came out of thin strips of glowing material in the center of the ceiling.

"Andersen, go back and tell Mr. Lamb that we're in a room--not in a large enclosed area like Major Hawkins described."

As the private turned to go back through, the black Wall coalesced from a shimmer into a solid black circle and then rapidly diminished into a small dot and disappeared, leaving the same white metallic wall as the rest of the room.

"What the hell?" King muttered.

"What now, LT?" Sergeant Johnson asked.

King licked his lips nervously, trying to regain control. "All right. Spread out. You make too good a target clumped together."

"For who?" Johnson muttered, gesturing around the empty room with his rifle. "There's nothing here."

King ignored him and walked over to the door. He pushed on it to no avail. "Everyone step back." He aimed his M-16 at the door as Johnson stepped forward. "I wouldn't do that, sir!"

King fired a three-round burst. The bullets ricocheted off the metal and flashed around the room, ricocheting several more times until they ran out of kinetic energy. One of the marines let out a surprised yell and stared in amazement as a pool of blood spread on his left thigh. "What happened?"

Johnson grabbed his arm and gently lowered the soldier to the ground. "You're hit, Pritchett. You don't feel it right now, but you will." He pulled the first-aid kit out of his load-bearing vest and began bandaging the wound, getting the flow of blood stopped. "It's not too bad. You're lucky the bullet bounced a few times before hitting you. You'll have a little scar."

"Will I get a Purple Heart?" the young soldier asked, staring wide-eyed as his leg was worked on.

Sergeant Johnson gave a fatherly chuckle. "We get back home, Pritchett, and you can have one of my Purple Hearts, okay?"

King was still standing by the door, sheepishly holding his rifle. "What do we do now, Top?" he asked quietly.

His hands covered in blood, Johnson spared his officer a brief glance. "We sit down and we wait, sir."

Ayers Rock, Australia

23 DECEMBER 1995, 0130 LOCAL

22 DECEMBER 1995, 1600 ZULU

They waited a silent hour, lost in their own thoughts as the Wall refused to disgorge any information. Finally, Fran turned and headed for the basket. Her words echoed through the chamber as she climbed in and gave the order to be lifted. She wanted to say something to Lamb but she realized it would be futile. She knew he'd been pushed to the edge by the events of the last couple of days and that had affected his thinking, as it had all of theirs.

As she rode up the black borehole, she thought of the young faces of the marines who had gone through. Her mind flashed a vision of them lying on the surface of some cold planet, the mouths wide open, frozen in a desperate gasp for air that wasn't there. Some of them probably trying to crawl to the Wall and come back, but none making it. She shivered despite the oppressive heat and felt tears well up. She'd had so much hope in that first briefing but it seemed that every move that had been made since then had only worsened things.

She went by Hawkins's tent and looked for him, to tell him what had happened, but he wasn't there. Physically and emotionally exhausted, she crawled onto her own cot and passed into unconsciousness.

THE RUSSIAN IV 100 Kilometers Northeast of Volgograd, Russia

22 DECEMBER 1995, 2200 LOCAL

22 DECEMBER 1995, 1800 ZULU

The Russian vomited off the edge of the trail his stomach spasming in agonizing ripples. The remains of the cold army ration he'd eaten earlier in the evening stood out clearly against the white snow. He stood and willed the pain to stay a hand's distance away. He sensed it, but didn't let it override his control. The sickness was coming quicker than he had expected. He walked slowly back to the truck and pulled out the large-scale military maps of the area.

He checked his location and then estimated how far he had to go. He'd misjudged the radiation poisoning, but he hadn't made much of a miscalculation on his rate of travel. He should make it to his destination in a day, give or take six hours. He put the maps away and reached into his rucksack, pulling out a small pill bottle. He shook out the painkillers and took several, swallowing them with great difficulty.

Stiffly, he climbed into the cab of the truck and started the engine. He was on the edge of the wilderness that stretched to the northeast of Volgograd, formerly known to the world as Stalingrad. He felt it was appropriate that that city, site of the greatest exhibition of will of the Soviet people in the Great Patriotic War and so casually renamed by those in power, should be the first to fall to his plan.

He looked out the windshield. Mile upon mile of pine forest stretched in a mind-numbing continuity in front of him. His target lay out there, long camouflaged and hidden among the trees and swamps. When he destroyed it, the action would most certainly make them aware of what they had done to his son and all the others. He was committed to all who had sworn to uphold Mother Russia and had had their faith shattered and their pride spit on.

He pushed the gearshift lever into first and the wheels started turning, crunching the fresh snow from the previous night beneath as he moved down the old logging road. His eyes flickered for a moment from the dull glow of the headlights on the trail to the old photo he had taped to the dashboard. The young man in the sharply cut uniform, with the pilot's wings proudly pinned on his chest, grinned back at him. The Russian's eyes closed briefly--this time the pain coming from a deeper source than the radiation-and then he opened them. He focused on the road.