The Roswell Conspiracy (27 page)

“Or a street address where they’re going to meet.” Morgan jotted down the phrase in her notebook and handed the items back to the officer.

After making their reports of the chase to Abel, they walked back toward their car.

Grant searched for the phrase on his phone while Morgan was lost in thought. The entire phrase failed to yield anything useful, so he started plugging subsections of it into a search engine.

“When Kessler didn’t show to make the drop,” Morgan said, “their next move would probably have been to leave Australia. We think that they had some connection with the Baja drug gang. This could be related to their contact in the cartel.”

Grant continued trying different combinations. “Like we said earlier, a drug gang would be a good way to smuggle the Killswitches back into the US. They’ve got the systems already in place, and they’ll do anything if the price is right.”

“We can’t send out a blanket alert to the Border Patrol describing the Killswitch because of its secret status. And unless we send a detailed description, they won’t know what to look for. We’ll have to see if we can narrow it down to a particular city.”

“Got it!” Grant said triumphantly. “That guy had the abbreviation wrong or we couldn’t read his handwriting. It should have been 22 Lic. Jose Lopez Portillo Ote. It stands for 22 Licenciado José López Portillo Oriente. It’s an address in Tijuana. There’s a border crossing a quarter mile from there.”

“That could be where they’re planning to meet to repack the shipment for the smuggling operation.”

“If we can intercept them there, we might be able to retrieve the Killswitches before they even cross the border.”

“We’ll have to coordinate with the Mexican Federales to put a stakeout on the location. When the weapons arrive, we’ll raid the place and get them back.”

“How will you know when the Killswitches are there?”

“Because you’re coming with me. You know what the Russians look like.”

“Do I get to have a gun?”

Morgan squinted at him. “I guess so. You’ve come in handy so far.”

Grant smiled. “Then I’m in.”

She got on her phone. “This is Special Agent Bell. How fast can Grant Westfield and I get to San Diego?”

THIRTY-EIGHT

Jess had been shocked when Polk was dashed on the rocks by the falling Suzuki, but she’d been outraged by the kidnapping of her grandmother. Her instinct had been to charge up over the cliff edge to get Fay back, but Tyler had restrained her when he saw how well Colchev’s gunmen had them pinned. Harris’s lifeless form in the grass only confirmed that they would have had no chance.

When Colchev’s car was out of firing range, Tyler and Jess gave chase. Her feet crunched on the hard-packed dirt as she ran next to Tyler. They’d settled into a fast jog after sprinting for five minutes behind Colchev’s rapidly receding SUV, which was now long gone.

“How far … to the airport?” she asked between breaths. She wasn’t struggling for air, but Tyler’s long legs made it a challenge to keep up. He didn’t seem to be huffing and puffing.

“At least four miles,” he said. “At this pace it’ll take us another half hour.”

“They could take off by then.”

“I know. We have to stop them before they get airborne.”

She wanted to get reassurance from Tyler that Fay would be all right, but wasting her breath on extracting meaningless platitudes wasn’t going to help her get to the airport any faster. She concentrated on sucking in air through her nose and exhaling through her mouth as she did on her twice-weekly jogs.

Tyler jerked his head around at the sound of an engine behind them.

She turned to see two motor scooters puttering toward them. Two skinny guys, both in their twenties, waved as they approached.

“We need those scooters,” Tyler said. “Follow my lead.”

The kids seemed like college students on summer break, backpacks slung over their shoulders.

Tyler smiled and flagged them down. The look was non-threatening, just a dirty, sweaty man and woman who were out in the middle of nowhere.

The riders came to a stop. Both of them paid more attention to Jess than Tyler.

“
Hola
,” one of them said to Jess.
“¿Qué pasa?
”

“
No hablo Español
,” Tyler said. “
¿Habla Inglés?
”

The men shook their heads.

“Do you speak Spanish?” Tyler said to Jess.

“No,” Jess said. “And we don’t have time for this.”

With a quick nod at the bikes, she took a running lunge and pushed the closest guy off his scooter, grabbing the handle before it could fall.

Tyler didn’t hesitate to follow her cue. He ripped the second man off his bike as if he were a doll. The man hit the ground with an “oof.”

“Sorry,” Tyler said, and hopped onto the seat.

They gunned the engines and zipped away before the men could get to their feet. In her rearview mirror she could see them give chase, but their cursing and arm-waving didn’t help them catch up.

The scooters could hit forty miles an hour, but the frequent potholes meant that thirty was pushing the safest top speed. Tyler pulled even with her.

“That’s one way to do it,” he said over the wind.

“Those guys will be fine. We can’t let Colchev get away with Nana.”

“We’ll park a truck across the runway if that’s what it takes to keep them from leaving.”

“I hope you’re right. She doesn’t have her medication.”

“What medication?”

“Insulin. She’ll tire quickly without it. If she doesn’t get another dose within a few days, she could pass out and go into a coma.”

“Is she diabetic?”

Jess hesitated, but she had to tell him. “Nana has pancreatic cancer. She wanted me to keep it quiet.”

“She seemed fine to me.”

“She had some rough days earlier in the month, but she’s been okay the past week.”

“How far along?”

“Stage four. Terminal. I’m not giving up hope, but most people in the same situation last only a few months. She’s supposed to start chemotherapy next week.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I would never have let her come along if I’d known.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, but you’ve seen how stubborn she can be.”

“She’s a tough bird. Maybe the doctors are wrong.”

They were only a few miles from town, but a thunderous roar coming from that direction made Tyler stop. Jess pulled to a halt next to him.

It sounded like a jet engine.

“Damn it,” he said. “We’re too late.”

The roar receded into the distance until she saw a white twin-engine private plane take to the air above the far end of the runway.

“No!” she cried out. “No!”

“It’s all right. The C-17 should be able to match the speed of Colchev’s jet. We’ll get into the air as soon as we reach the airport, and we’ll make sure to have a SWAT team waiting wherever they land.”

He revved his engine and took off.

“Why are they doing this?” Jess said when she caught up. “What’s so damned important about this weapon?”

“The Killswitch is an electromagnetic pulse device. Xenobium, the material we found in the cave, is detonated by explosives in the Killswitch, and it sends out a cascade of gamma rays that disrupts any magnetic field within range.”

“Which would do what?”

“It would cause a surge of electricity that damages electronic devices. Anything with a transistor would immediately shut down. Computers, communications, electrical grids, vehicles, airplanes would all be affected.”

“Do you think he’s planning to use this thing?”

“Possibly, but we don’t know what Colchev’s target is. Now that he has the components to make it work, he could take out a major city with it.”

“Good God! Imagine if he set it off next to an airport.”

“Every plane within range would crash. Hospitals would have no power. With no working fire trucks or water pumping stations, fires would rage out of control. Nuclear plants would melt down. We’re essentially talking about a worst-case terrorist event.”

Jess’s stomach twisted at the nightmare scenario.

“This is some kind of classified US weapon?” she said.

“Yeah, and I committed twelve felonies telling you all that. But I need your help to get it back. And we’ll get Fay back with it. I promise.”

He still knew her well. The platitudes helped.

They made better time once they hit the paved road going into Hanga Roa. In another two minutes they were on the airport tarmac.

Tyler came to a stop next to the huge cargo jet and jumped off the scooter without bothering to pop the kickstand. Jess did the same and followed him up the stairs into the C-17.

She stopped suddenly when she saw dead bodies scattered on the cargo floor. The plane’s three crew and the two other security men. All of them had been shot.

Tyler ignored the corpses and knelt on the opposite side of a copper-colored device four-feet long. The sleek piece of machinery had an inherently menacing quality.

“Is that the Killswitch?” she asked.

He met her eyes. “Yes. And it’s armed.”

“What?” She went around to Tyler’s side and saw a LCD display counting down. It read 15:23. 15:22. 15:21.

“Colchev must have set it before he left.” He waved the radiation meter over the weapon and grimaced when he saw the results. “The xenobium we found must be in here.”

“Oh, my God! Can you disarm it?”

Tyler examined the device and shook his head. “It looks like it requires a security code. Do you think you could decipher it?”

“Not without knowing anything about its internal safeguards to prevent tampering. What about cutting the wires?”

“I’m not even sure how it works. I could set it off just by tinkering with it.”

“Then let’s get it out of the plane. We’ll put it far away and then take cover.”

“That’s not going to work.”

“Sure it’ll take out the electronics, but at least it won’t blow up the plane.”

Tyler stood. She could see the gears in his head turning, weighing a set of bad options.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“When it goes off, the xenobium in the weapon will emit high-intensity gamma rays. That’s how it causes the magnetic flux.”

Jess felt her gut twist. “Radiation?”

Tyler grimly nodded. “It doesn’t matter where we take it. If this bomb goes off, everyone on the island will die.”

THIRTY-NINE

Tyler briefly considered dumping the Killswitch in the ocean, but he had no idea whether that would short circuit it, causing a detonation before it got deep enough to remove the radiation threat.

“What are we going to do?” Jess said. “How far away do we have to get it?”

“I don’t know the effective range, so as far away as we can …”

Tyler paused and fixated on the dead pilot. The C-17. If he still had enough time, he
could
get the Killswitch far away. He checked his watch, comparing it to the countdown timer. To have a chance of succeeding, he’d have to start right now.

He ran for the staircase leading up from the cargo deck to the cockpit.

“Where are you going?” Jess yelled as she came after him.

He sat in the pilot’s seat and fired up the auxiliary power unit that he would need to start the engines. Tyler thumbed through the checklist while the APU whined as it spooled up. It would take eight minutes to get all four engines warmed up.

“If I can get the plane over the open ocean,” he said, “it might be far enough to keep everyone safe.”

“Will it keep the island from getting hit by the electromagnetic pulse?”

“I don’t know.”

“But this is suicidal!”

Tyler thought back to what the pilot had told him about their previous mission before it had been scrubbed to ferry them to Easter Island. The C-17 was supposed to be going from Alice Springs to a paratrooper training op in Japan. That meant the crew had brought their own parachutes, standard procedure for an airborne drop.

“There are chutes on board somewhere. I’ll jump once I get into the air and set the autopilot.”

“Have you ever jumped from one of these?”

“A couple of times,” he lied. He’d done a few jumps at Grant’s urging, but those had been out of a propeller-driven skydiving plane, not a full-sized jet.

She looked around the cockpit. “Where are the chutes?”

“I don’t know. But they’ve got to be here somewhere.” He handed her his camera. “This has a wireless connection. Send every photo and video in there to your email address.” In case the Killswitch knocked out the island’s electronics, he wanted to make sure they had a record of the cave drawings.

Jess tapped on the camera’s display while Tyler worked on getting the engines started, the checklist on his lap. What he didn’t tell her was that it would take only one missed detail to screw up his entire plan. While he’d flown jets for years now, he’d only flown sleek twin-engine private planes, not four-engine monsters like the C-17. The principles were the same, but the handling was altogether different. And now he would have to skip all but the most important steps in the checklist to get into the air in time.

Tyler knew he was making a big assumption about the chutes. Aircrews always packed their own parachutes, to be used only in an emergency during the drop, but he didn’t actually have confirmation that they were on the plane already. He was willing to take the risk, but there was no reason to tell Jess.

“Done,” she said, looking up from the camera. “It’ll take a few minutes to upload them all, but they’re on the way.”

“Thanks,” Tyler said. “Now get off the plane.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is crazy!”

“Go!”

She stopped typing and dashed into the cabin behind the cockpit, but instead of leaving, she threw open locker doors.

Tyler didn’t have time to ask what she was doing. With the APU at full power, he started the number one engine. The engines had to be started in sequence from port to starboard, approximately ninety seconds for each one as the rotors reached the minimum RPM needed.

Jess returned carrying two parachutes. “Found them,” she said, dumping them onto the floor. “Even if you jump out safely, you’ll be miles from shore. You can’t swim that far.”